Une Petite Maison Rose
by LePetitPappillon
Summary: Anna was a strange girl.
1. Chapter 1

All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.

Ivan Braginski had managed to fall in love with Katya, the serf who watched over his two newborns, Andrei and Dmitri. Every day, he would stand by the door and stare as the woman would lull either child back to sleep had they become upset or woke from their dreams.

Natasha, his wife, adored her children. At least, that was what she said. But it was difficult for her to keep up with two of them. If Andrei began to cry, then so would Dmitri. And if Dmitri would cry, then Andrei would howl as well.

It was too much for poor Natasha, who was fragile and delicate and became sick when frustrated. Simply, the mother loved her children when they were likable and disliked her children when they were difficult.

Ivan sometimes wondered if she could tell them apart.

So he would regard Katya with an odd sort of veneration, as she seemed to value his children whether they relaxed within her arms or kicked and wailed.

One morning, that sweet serf sat within the rocking chair kept within the children's room-the same rocking chair meant for Natasha- Dmitri resting within her lap. Katya looked as though she had fallen from Heaven. The light made her hair golden and her pale flesh porcelain. And his son was so calm, entirely joyous with a few of her dainty fingers inside his minute hand.

Katya caught him.

Her lips bent themselves into a slight grin.

"Am I doing something wrong, Mr. Braginski?" Those angelic blue eyes held a tinge of happiness.

"No. Not at all." Pause. "Do you like children, Katya?"

"Yes. You have sweet boys." Finger tips moved the small amount of blond lacing Dmitri's brow.

"Can you tell them apart? Sometimes I wonder whether or not I'm getting them mixed up."

"I think I can. This one is Dmitri." Katya's mouth debated over words for a moment. "Might I make a suggestion?"

"Yes, of course."

"It might be easier to label them….perhaps sew the first letter of their names into their clothing. Or maybe something along those lines."

"Well, how do you tell them apart?"

"To be honest, I'm not even certain. I think…I think I can just tell."

"Oh, I see." Ivan looked at his children, the one within Katya's lap and the one still contained within the crib. "Are they good?"

"Yes. They're very good. Andrei is a bit rowdier, but that's alright. He's a sweet baby."

The man nodded, uncertain of what to say. He wanted to spill his entire heart to that strange saint. And it was almost as though he could. But Katya was a serf. She was not meant to know his woes and fears and troubles.

So, those cool sapphire eyes ate the sun filtering through the window.

"I'm going to borrow Andrei."

"Of course sir. Do whatever you please."

So Ivan's gigantic hands stole the sleeping infant from his blankets, the child not even stirring. And gently, with eyes full of pride, the man took his little son to Natasha, who was sitting upon the sofa in one of the parlors, reading a novel. She had finished breakfast and dressed, prepared for a long day of doing nothing and smelling of pricey fragrance.

"Hello, Darling." Attention did not even shift from those long pages.

"Hello, Natasha. Can you tell me which baby this is?"

"Well, why do you ask?"

"I can't tell which one is which."

"That's horrendous! I've they're your children!"

"But they look exactly the same."

"Well, that one is Dmitri." A chocolate was fetched from the bowl sitting next to the couch. "Look, you can tell by his…" A moment was taken to chew and another few lines were read. "Nose."

"Nose?"

"Yes. It's different than Andrei's. I don't know, dear. You simply have to tell."

"…Are you certain this one is Dmitri? He looks like he might be Andrei."

"No, that's Dmitri." Another bite of chocolate. "How is that-oh? Katya doing? Yes. That's her name. I'm not quite sure I trust her with my children."

"I think she's doing a fine job. If you don't trust her with your babies, why not take care of them yourself?"

"It's _so _stressful. You wouldn't understand, Ivan. You didn't have to push them out of your body-you just had to watch." More confections to that full mouth. "Why don't you put Dmitri back? He looked tired."

"He's already asleep. And I'm fairly certain this one is Andrei."

"Well, if you're certain, why did you ask?"

Ivan only managed to sigh, eyes hooking to the peaceful thing contained within his strong arms. "I'm not certain why I asked, Natasha. I suppose I wanted to make sure I was correct. Good-bye."

"Good-bye."

So the father took Andrei back to his room, lowering him into that happy dungeon, catching a glimpse of the woman who truly should have been the mother; she was sitting in tranquility with the other son, who wore contentment easily as skin. Those tiny legs even kicked in their dreamy delusion, soft noise arising from gaping lips.

"Did everything go well, sir?"

"Yes, Katya. It went perfectly well."

There was a long pause.

"Mr. Braginski, would you like me to get back to work?"

"No. I want you to stay with them." The two met glances. "Would you like me to remain here? Is it boring?"

"Sir, my opinion isn't important."

"Please, answer my question."

"Mr. Braginski, I would love to watch over your children. I adore them."

Ivan only smiled-a subdued sort of grin. He honestly wished more could be offered. "I'm going to my office now."

"Good-bye, sir."

"Good-bye."

And that was that.


	2. Chapter 2

Things seemed to progress. The scab festered and grew infected and the only thing Ivan could do was pick at it. This adoration of his was a blemish. It was too ugly to be left alone but too painful to mess with.

He began to watch Katya almost every day. There were attempts to justify this occurrence inside his mind, but doing so was pouring acid onto his flesh. They were lies. Such as, Ivan wanted to be near children, or, he wished to take a break from work. There was only one reason for that sick obsession, and that was to see Katya.

Simply, the woman captivated him. Crawled into the back of his mind at the very worst parts of his day and made them the best. She was a dream that alleviated him of the pain this terribly dull life caused.

Ivan could not wipe Katya from his mind. She remained, with those lucid blue eyes teeming with innocence. That pretty face smiling so kindly, rouge applied to cheeks as though they were painted on so delicately-a doll's round visage.

And she looked so sweet, dressed in simple clothes, as though virtue was wrapped in humbleness and little pleasures.

But what it truly was-what truly drove Ivan mad in his ill love-was the fact that Katya took such wonderful care of his sons. She loved them more than their _real_ mother did. And she could actually tell them apart. One moment, Natasha was calling Andrei Dmitri and Dmitri Andrei. Then they were who they were meant to be and after that, the confusion commenced.

Katya never confused them. Katya knew exactly which one was which. She even sang them little songs and pressed kisses to their brows. The father had watched it and could not help the swelling of happiness within his heart.

And one day, either stood within the children's room, Ivan holding Andrei and Katya responsible for little Dmitri, who was wide awake and chewing one her sleeve with a sopping wet mouth. There was mirth all about her face, as though that action was entirely endearing-perhaps Dmitri loved her as well as his father did.

They smiled to one another.

Then it came tumbling out, as an avalanche.

"Katya, sometimes I earnestly wish you were the mother of my children." Her face immediately turned beat red, but the coming disaster did not cease. "You're so kind to them, and so very sweet. Unlike Natasha, who is content to sit in the parlor all day and read. I once saw her hold one of them-I can't even remember which. And she wore such a look of displeasure, it made me sick to my stomach. What kind of mother hates her own children, Katya?"

"Sir-please. I highly doubt Natasha _hates_ them, if I can speak freely." A pause. Then she continued. "I think some women simply experience a difficult time with the transition. Having children is a life-altering process. I'm certain you know that very well. Perhaps you should tell her your feelings. These sorts of emotions are impossible to handle when they grow untamed, especially in a relationship." There was a long silence. "I'm sorry, sir. Perhaps you're absolutely justified in your opinion. I don't know Natasha like you do."

"No, Katya. You're right. Perhaps I'm being too hard on her…I simply wish she was more like you."

"I'm flattered, Mr. Braginski."

The man could not muster up speech, so those eyes focused upon the child asleep at his chest, then back to Dmitri, who was still actively eating up Katya's garment.

"Sir, may I ask a question?"

"Of course. Anything."

"Do you love your wife? I know this is deeply personal, but…You seem so unhappy."

Ivan did not speak at first.

"My apologies, I-"

"No, Katya. I don't love her. I once thought I did, when we were first wed. But it was such hell with this pregnancy and all of her demands-" Sigh. "Now that our children are born, it seems as though she doesn't even want them. All of that pampering and for what? Two tiny boys she won't even look at? And she wanted children!"

The serf and the master regarded one another.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Braginski. That's truly an unfortunate situation. But if Natasha doesn't want to love them, I certainly will. And you love them as well, don't you?"

"Yes, I do."

"Well, that's good. When they get old enough-make sure to spend time with them. Boys really look up to their fathers. And I couldn't bear to see such wonderful children become ruined."

"I will, Katya. I'll be certain that they're good boys."

"I'm happy to hear that."

At that point, Ivan placed Andrei back into his crib, enormous hands gentle with such a fragile creature. Then, he looked to Katya, who had remained in her place, fingers breezing over the baby's soft and short hair, eliciting a myriad of happy noise. Pre-Russian that said, 'I love you'. And you know that was what it meant. Especially with the addition of happy legs, moving all about.

Ivan drew nearer to her-the woman who _should_ have been the mother. The woman who was perfect for the job and had been unfortunate enough not to have it.

Eventually, they stood right across from one another, and Ivan's grasps captured the woman's innocent face. So softly, their lips came together, combining into a wonderful vat of deep red affection and flavored exactly as chocolate.

During that touch, Katya did not remove her grip from Dmitri's fragile body.

Ivan only took more of her for that.

And so suddenly, it ended, with Ivan running back into the hallway and Katya standing in her place with a visage red as a cherry. It then occurred to that stupid giant that he was in love. And he had never been in love before.

The aristocrat reverted back to drooling boyhood and climbed back into his place, to complete more agonizing office work.

But it was easier.

Because he felt so damn young.


	3. Chapter 3

The kiss was only the first explosion to a set of chain reactions. Ivan would see Katya every day, whether she was watching his children or not, and they would speak to one another. The affection was written easily about their faces. Love notes scribbled upon their flesh in the darkest of ink.

And there was same amount guilt. But Mr. Braginski was so in love it did not matter. His entire day was composed of thoughts for Katya. Katya, who was so easy and kind. Katya, whose heart was so full adoration it was nearly busting at the seams.

Of course, the affection was not one sided. Katya held a place in her crux for Ivan as well. There was shame with that sentiment, but such emotion can not to be stopped simply due to upset. Ivan Braginski lived within her heart, causing her blood to be sweet and her entire system to malfunction.

It was the romance of a childhood neither had truly experienced. A young sort of love bathed in innocence. Lust didn't truly occur to either of them, at least, not at first. They appreciated one another for their beautiful attributes, but it was their souls that seemed to click as puzzle pieces. Ivan would speak and Katya would listen. Then Katya would donate her lovely advice and Ivan would feel more content within his sprit. It was an elderly adoration and a youthful one all at one moment. Just two people who had found one another at an unfortunate barrier.

Ivan found himself detesting Katya's place within society. How could such a delicate creature be born a serf-_a slave?_ It was as though God, in his occasional and severe cruelty, had taken a princess and made her into nothing more than a pauper. And how she remained so upbeat! Her life was certainly not desirable. Much of it was intensely tragic.

The large man took a heavy breath.

His wife was beginning to notice these troubles-slowly, but surely. Natasha knew her husband well enough to be sure when something was wrong. Ivan's eyes were too damn bright. He seemed too pleased and content in life, when everything was far darker in her own vision.

Yes. Being a father must have been excellent, but what of the crippling work and children? Natasha grew sick at the fact she owned two of those infants and not only one. She had desired a single child, but one demanding mouth seemed to be enough. And the pair fed off of one another. When one became ill, it was inevitable for other to catch the same cough, and two sorrowful boys seemed to be something of an intense punishment. Calm an infant and the other begins to wail. One could spend an entire day just putting them to bed.

And that was Katya's purpose.

But Natasha still found herself miserable.

One evening, she and her husband sat within their bed chamber, Natasha sore and tired and Ivan, happily reading a novel in the dim light from a candle.

"Darling," Natasha began, "What in the world has you so happy?"

Oh many things, my dear. But you're not allowed to know about a single one of them. Let's see. There's the fact that I've found a woman far more angelic than you, and I've come to love a serf with pink and feathered affection. That and I'm appreciating my darling children's lives-unlike you-but I'm sure the literature and chocolate are quite fulfilling.

How is that working for you, Natasha?

"I'm not entirely certain dear. I suppose I simply love my babies. Have you noticed how sweet they are?"

"Is that truly it, Ivan? How can you manage to love them so well?"

"Don't you? They're wonderful children. Just yesterday I was holding Dmitri and I swear-the boy smiled at me. He's far too young to be smiling, but it was entirely too real."

"Oh, Ivan. You must delusional. Whenever I hold those children, they're whining and crying and throwing an all-together fit. I wish they were older. Perhaps three or four. That's when children are best. They're not intelligent enough to be cruel to their parents and kind enough to have that unconditional love one sees in toddlers. But now-those boys are squirming black holes of utter greed."

"Natasha, do you love them at all?" Ivan found his stomach to be churning in circles.

"Well, I-of course I do. It's simply-I don't think they love _me_."

"Of course they do, Natasha. They _need_ you. And if you spent any time at all with them, perhaps you could see that. I've held either of them and there has been such a kindness in their eyes, it can't be anything else _but_ love."

Natasha simply regarded her husband with a dull hurt living inside those sights. There was no defense for her to make; either of them knew Ivan was right.

The woman could not even regurgitate an apology. It was like spitting up flames.

Somehow, either of them managed to sleep, despite the dense air and bone-breaking tension.

Then the next morning came, and Ivan was out of bed long before his hateful woman. And without wasting any time, the man arrived within the children's room.

Who else would be there but Katya?

"Mr. Braginski…You're here early. Is everything alright?"

Pause. The thoughts sank within Ivan's wallowing stomach. They burned alive in the hell fire acid and pumped screams into his ears.

No. Nothing was alright. The more he thought about it, nothing ever was. The entire world was mangled and twisted and deformed. A bird with both wings broken and legs bent into loops.

So he said the only damn thing that made any sense.

"I love you."

The entire universe same to a crippling halt. Katya was dumbstruck and charmed and lost all at the same moment.

"Ivan-" Gasp. "Don't love me."

"No, Katya. _I do love you_. You can detest me for it. You can think me disgusting and wish me dead, but it won't change a thing. I love you."

The serf woman stood there, uncertain of what to say. It was like attempting to speak another language. The entire task was impossible.

"You can't love me. I'm just a-" Her mouth had grown stupid.

"Yes, Katya. You _are_ a serf. But why does that have to matter? You're still alive, aren't you? You're not an object-a statue that simply remains in one place. You're breathing. Don't you understand?"

Again, marrow shattering silence. "Of course I understand, sir."

"For the love of God-don't call me sir anymore! Call me Ivan, or call me Vanya. But I don't want to be _sir _to you. Or Mr. Braginski. Or anything so formal."

"You're going to get yourself in trouble, Ivan."

"Why? Do you love me as well, Katya?" Oh, the poor man was breaking down. A machine that malfunctioned after months of rust. He could not handle anymore of this silence. This adoration, that took away from him everyday-could no longer be hidden beneath the flesh. It needed to be vocalized, only to Katya herself.

"I-I wish I didn't. That's why you're going to get yourself in trouble." Delicate hands were wringing a worn gown. "It's so stupid-to love me. I'm simply not worth the hassle this is going to bring. What about your wife? You're married…"

"Katya, Natasha doesn't own a heart. But you're so incredibly warm and loving and so much better-"

"Don't say that, Mr. Braginski."

"_Ivan._"

The pair stared at one another; Katya was about to weep.

"I can't call you that. It's not right." A few tears began to drop, and the man wasted no time embracing the one across from him.

"Please, don't cry. I don't want to make you upset."

"What's wrong with you?" Katya's arms were wrapped securely around the giant's torso, with her face buried well within that chest. "As if kissing me wasn't enough-now you have to _love_ me? What am I going to do?"

"You could love me back."

Katya only managed to export more liquid frustration. Ivan had shattered a delicate fountain, and now the entire room was soaking. Goodness, what a catastrophe the man had caused.

"Я тебя люблю."

"I love you too, Ivan. Now let me go."

"No." A kiss to that brow. "I refuse."

So the poor servant settled in, as her master gave her no more option, and eventually, she calmed herself. Then she was released.

Lips met, for a brief time.

"I'll go away now, Katya. I'm sorry to make you cry."

"That's alright, Ivan." The title still tasted too sweet against her buds. "I'm no longer upset."

"I'm glad to hear it. I'll see you at a later time. Good-bye."

"Good-bye."

And that affectionate moron left his little mistress, and returned to that terrible office while lost in a heavy daze. The world's hues were more vibrant, and that once heavy heart was floating into the sky.

The bird's wings had healed and his legs worked once more.

It was the first time in a long time that Ivan Braginski's face was pink.

Oh no.


	4. Chapter 4

It was shortly after that that their affair began. They would meet one another every day, whether it be within the twin's room or within another chamber of that enormous home. Lips would meet. A sugared suck and a happy pop. Hands going everywhere; searching and finding shining little crevices where they could.

Ivan was hard in love. It was a terminal illness spreading like cancer, worse and worse every single day. The love built within his core and began to tick as a time bomb, until he simply required the woman.

They found one another one night, at two o' clock in the morning. Either had got up, walking into the hallway for no apparent reason. The entire moment was built upon instinct. The pair had followed the rope that tied together, colliding within one of the numerous halls contained within that maze of a home.

And they joined hands; Katya's sinking easily into her master's. But it was alright-because Ivan held it as a little trinket, a precious article he found after years of loss.

Then, they snuck into one of the many empty flats lining the halls.

For the first time, they made love.

Yes, it was incorrect. Either knew it was wrong-what they were doing. But this affection was a cannon knocking through a brick wall. The act was done before it began. Being in love was enough. The act of such adoration made it official.

When it was done, either lied next to one another, hands connected beneath the sheets. Bodies were stripped nude and the shells spread all about the floor. Night clothes scattered everywhere.

"Oh, Ivan…" Katya's large chest heaved, out of breath. "I love you."

"I love you too, Katya." The man rolled nearer to the woman, layering her sweat drenched face in kind pecks. His light blond hair was a mess. Even those thick eyebrows were wet.

But they accepted one another, because that was unfettered adoration. They loved one another beautiful and ugly and clothed and naked. They loved one another dipped in sweat. They loved one another dry as bone.

They simply loved one another.

Passionately.

Katya kissed Ivan's nose.

"Darling, I'm going back to bed. So you don't get yourself in trouble."

"Katya…"

"No, love. It's for the peace of everyone in this home." The serf gave her master those pretty lips. "Do you want to leave the room first?"

"Alright. I'll go." Wet mounds were hooking together once more. "I'll see you tomorrow. Please, sleep well."

"Sleep well, Ivan."

They left that room at different times. Katya departed after making the bed.

And no one knew. The next morning was just like any other. Wake up. Eat breakfast with Natasha and the twins. The boys return to Katya. Natasha returns to her parlor, until she wished to see her sons. Ivan swallows his bile and goes to see his children.

And Katya. Of course.

She kisses his cheek and they fall for one another again. But they have an even stronger bond now, because for about forty-five minutes, they became one. Their souls embraced and combined to be one entity.

Yin and Yang turning grey.

The pair exchanged petit grins.

I love you, Katya.

I love you too, Ivan.

It went on.

The rumors began, as was predicted. It was a home of a thousand people. Someone was bound to notice the pair in their affectionate bubble. They couldn't be the only ones awake at two in the morning. And like all rumors, it spread like wild fire.

Katya is a prostitute.

Have you seen the two together? That man must be a pervert.

Oh, and he had _sons_.

Don't they make love just about every hour? They're missing sometimes throughout the day. Like phantoms.

Eventually, Natasha heard these horrendous half truths, as anyone would-taking a place inside that palace. After all, they were like a black conflagration, consuming every last plank that was used to build the mansion.

Hell, even the marble floors were boiling.

So, Natasha did what Natasha did best. She confronted her husband.

Ivan remembered that moment very well, even years after it had occurred, the event would play back in his mind. A constant flash back of his first lie that was far more than white.

"Ivan." She was standing within the door way of his office, dressed entirely in white. That dollish face was red and swollen, blue gems tired. Not only had she just finished crying, but the woman hadn't slept in a long while either. "I heard that-" Choke. "I heard that you and Katya-" If the statement was completed, tears would surely overtake her face. "Is that true?"

"Natasha, how could you even believe such a horrible lie? I mean-yes, I've been spending time with Katya lately, but not because of any affair. It's simply for the sake of Andrei and Dmitri. It's important to me to know how they are, and unfortunately, that would involve speaking with Katya, since she cares for them most of the day."

Ivan paused to silently catch his breath.

"I think these servants get their ideas because we're friendly to one another. Katya is a kind woman and I see no need to be cruel to her. Oh, Natasha. You know how these things so. These serfs see two people together and have to invent the most ludicrous of stories to go with it. I'm certain if they had any time to read, this need for entertainment would vanish within a minute."

Was Natasha buying it?

"Darling, if they need to get their entertainment from me, then so be it. But I would never do such a thing to you."

The wife was beginning to cry again, so sorry that she had ever doubted her dear husband. Of course. All they were was empty rumors. Words that scorched for no real reason. Only for fun. Only for a few laughs.

Like a child setting fire to a forest. What was the use but to watch it all burn?

Ivan and Natasha embraced one another, the mother openly wailing into her darling's chest. His stomach lurched. The man might as well have swallowed poison. That's what it felt like. An entire glass of toxic wine was forced into an unwilling throat.

No, not even a glass. The entire bottle.

But the discomfort was hidden. For Natasha's sake. For _his_ sake.

And a few days passed. Ivan and Katya continued to speak to one another, as was usual. But they put their affair on hold-a suggestion made by the serf herself. It was obvious that no peace was coming of their coupling. Why not allow things to calm?

In that time, the rumors died out, if only slightly, and life went barreling forward. It was almost as though the entire incident with Natasha was forgotten by either of them and a bit of happiness was even left inside the mother's palms.

Natasha remembered how much she adored her husband-how wonderful and good he was. It amazed her that those horrible words were even believed, for any amount of time.

The woman managed to spend a small amount of time with her sons, who were so adorable, it nearly made her weep. How on earth did she become so lucky? An amazing man and two handsome children. Not even one-but _two?_

How many women would kill for her life?

She imagined quite a few.

Life seemed to be grand to each of them. Natasha was joyous and behaving as a mother and Ivan was able to have his darling Katya without much horrendous interference. And of course, the mistress was glad as well.

All three were in love. But with who-well. That wasn't so important, was it?

No. They were happy, everyone. And that was the only matter that held any water.

It was unfortunate that all balloons must pop.


	5. Chapter 5

For a few months, things went very well. Natasha was taking at least adequate care of her children and Ivan and Katya managed to keep their love a secret. The rumors fizzled out. The boys learned how to sit up and smile.

But something had to go wrong.

One morning, Katya stood within the twin's room, regarding the sleeping children with eyes wrought with tears. The weeping was almost silent, but it was evident, certainly. Of course, Ivan was there, to greet her. To hold his sons and speak with the woman of all things.

So it upset him to see the poor creature in such distress.

"Katya, what's wrong?" The door was shut gently behind him. The entire room became deathly ill and hollow. Something terrible was to occur. Yesterday had been the zenith of happiness upon the mountain, and now, they were taking their descent.

The one within the rocking chair managed to calm herself, to the point of words. "I thought…I thought maybe my schedule was just off-or something." A long breath. Katya was grasping at air and catching none. "But this morning-" Pause. "I threw up."

"Are you-" Ivan couldn't even bring himself to say it. What calamity would occur if she was? It was an explosion that encompassed everything. All of their lives-tarnished. In moments.

"I don't know what else this could be. It's been at least three months-look at my stomach, Ivan!"

"Katya, please. Calm yourself." A few steps closer were taken, and those enormous hands took the woman's shoulders. "Listen, we'll figure something out. But you must remain calm. Panicking won't do us any good."

No words were omitted upon the other side.

"I won't let anything terrible happen, Katya. If you are pregnant, I won't allow our baby anything but a happy life. Yes, Natasha will have to know, but…" Could they even heal from such a horrendous event?

Oh, yes Natasha. Here's a child I had with another woman. One of the serfs actually; isn't that funny? But yes-we're going to taking care of her now. Behave as though she's your child, please. Because well-she's mine?

Goodness, why was this unborn child already given a gender?

Katya had to have a girl. It was the only option that registered sense.

"I've ruined your marriage." The tears began once more.

"Darling, _I've_ ruined my marriage. Actually, my marriage was ruined the moment it began. You've done nothing wrong. You could even say you were doing as I told you to do. No one would accuse you otherwise."

"But Ivan-_that's not true_." There was a desperate pain upon that gorgeous visage. A pock mark to a doll's porcelain cheek. "I love you. That's why I did what I did. This is just as much my fault as it is yours."

It was Ivan's turn to be quiet. "Do you truly love me, Katya?"

"_Yes._ I love you." That voice was astonishingly silent, because this was a truth meant for only Ivan to hear. It was his and his alone. Not even his darling sons could be aware of it.

They were sitting up, watching the scene before them play out.

"Katya, I'm going to go to work now. I'll think about what we can do."

A nod. That was all.

Ivan kissed either of children and left the room.

The entire time he worked, that mind was clogged with concern. It was a curse, Katya had shared with him. But they had afflicted this pox upon one another.

A bit of rage burned within the man's center.

Why wouldn't Katya be his bride? Why was he made to marry that horrendous Natasha, who would not bear to lay eyes upon her own children? It would have been so much easier to simply marry for love. They would have been happy together without the scandal and misery.

This conception would have been something joyous.

Oh-and Ivan wanted _so_ badly to be happy. The woman he adored was going to give him a child. What conflagration could ruin that?

Life simply was not correct. Why must princes marry princesses if it brings such sour melancholy? What other choices was the man given? Remain faithful to a dry and barren marriage, so either can pretend to be satisfied? They would be putting on a constant show for either of their sons.

The moment Andrei and Dmitri could speak, they'd ask uncomfortable questions.

"Why don't Mama and Papa sleep in the same bed?"

"Why do they talk to one another in shouts?"

"Why are they never in the same room?"

Why? Why? Why? Why?

One could go on forever.

And this seemed to be the unavoidable fate. The carriage was crashing into the wall and there was no turning back.

At least now there would be a reason for their hatred.

The dull ache had become sharp. A bruise converted to a stab wound. Well. Now the blood stains could be explained.

But how was one to tell Natasha?

The topic sat inside his mouth all day. Perhaps it would be best to simply say it. Perhaps wait and see what was to come. Perhaps allow Katya to have this child and show the screaming thing to his wife.

Yes dear! This _is_ mine!

_Surprise! _

Oh, that would not end well.

Ivan made the decision to wait. And a few days came and expired between the horrendous tension. The entire home was wrong and everyone could feel it. It was as though every inhabitant was living beneath an iron. They were starched and pressed and no one was certain as to why. It was being whipped for no reason.

However, the pressure burst when the problem showed itself.

Natasha crashed into the office door, hysterical. Smoking tobacco and shaking with rage.

Ivan attempted to speak, but the premature words were silenced by a palm.

"Katya told me she was pregnant." Smoke was rising from her lungs-steam rising into the air. A hard drag was taken and some of that black cloud even came from her nose, but no cough was expelled. "How did that happen, Ivan?"

The man could not even speak. What would not cut this woman down?

There was nothing to say.

"_How did that happen, Ivan?_"

"I made love with her." Natasha did not interrupt, so Ivan continued. "I'm sorry I lied to you. But I have nothing more to say."

"_Nothing?_" The eyes of a murderer took the wife's face. "_Nothing?_"

"Well, what were you expecting? I'm not going to bother explaining the entire affair. There's no use in that. It's simple. I slept with Katya. I lied to you. I'm sorry. What I did was wrong, but it's over now. All that's left to do is apologize."

"_You don't even care!_" Natasha's cheeks were flooding with tears. Rage and sorrow and fire. A volcano exploding into a tsunami. Two disasters at one time. "Listen to you! 'It's over now'? How can it be over, Ivan? Katya has yet to have her child! _It's not over._ It can never be over! You've made an entire life with that woman, and you call that finished?"

The man began to suffocate.

For once, Natasha had been right. Their child would be entity of their adoration. And that infant would not mark the end of it, even if the deed had been done.

This was an entire life.

Ivan couldn't breathe.

"You're sick, you Goddamn dog." With that, Natasha exited the chamber, leaving a path of fire wherever her feet so happened to trespass. The entire palace had combusted and there was not enough water to stop the flames.

Lives had burned to ground. One could hear the screaming.

The prince began to weep.

What had he done?


	6. Chapter 6

Natasha had destroyed everything within her husband's chamber. The pictures. The decorations. Even the pillows. Upon the floor, a million different feathers scattered. The whole room was in shambles.

And the woman had disappeared.

So had Katya.

Ivan did not find either of them with the twins. They were not at breakfast. They were not in the halls. They were not anywhere. Finally, the beaten husband had to check within Katya's bed, where all those serfs slept.

And there she was- naked save for a skirt, and lying upon her stomach. The entirety of her back had been laced in the deep wounds of an unforgiving whip. They had not even developed scabs. Blood still leaked, causing the area beneath the woman to be dyed crimson.

White sheets made red.

The serf woman was practically screaming.

"Katya…"

She went on, the man's voice not even registering.

Then, an all consuming guilt ate the man alive. This was all his fault. The man had not only managed to damage his wife, but he had brought terrible scars to Katya's back as well. Those wounds would never fully heal. There would always be a horrid mark, to remind her of what had been done.

Not only had Ivan managed to impregnate Katya; he had also beaten her.

No time was wasted fetching warm water and bandages.

Ivan and Katya inhabited the bed, the woman weeping while the man removed the blood from her wetted back. The pale in which the cloth rested was turning a light pink.

"Oh, Katya. I'm so sorry." The soaking flesh was dried.

Somehow, the serf had managed to calm, taking in heavy breaths and murdering the sobs that just dried from her lips.

Ivan wrapped up her lesions and remained with her a very long while, stroking her short golden hair and giving affectionate touches to those arms, the only part of her that was not in excruciating pain.

"Ivan…"

"Do you need something?" That shoulder was offered a kiss, Ivan's heart breaking at the sight of the poor woman.

"No. No, I'm alright. I just wanted to tell you that I still love you."

Those words had yanked Ivan's heart right from chest.

"I'll always love you, even though I'm not supposed to. Rules and protocol can't stop emotion. Natasha can whip me, but she can't rob away my sentiments, no matter how badly she wants them gone."

Ivan was forced to place a hand before his mouth.

"You're a very kind man."

That sent tears boiling over.

Eventually, Katya was left in her solitude, and the man returned to his desk, the mundane work settling itself deeply into his bones. What was one to do after such fiasco?

What was there to do but carry on?

So the months came. Natasha did not return and Katya's stomach only grew. The boys grew their teeth and acquired a few words and adored time with their father, as well as Katya, who played as a faux mother in the wife's absence. Somehow, the entire home was given peace, despite the fact that nothing had been resolved. Snow overtook the ground and it was miserably cold, yet things were normal. The silence had become adjusted to. This was how life was.

And inside that silence, Katya's child was born. A tiny girl named Anna, who arrived in January on the fifteen day.

Ivan's heart swelled at the sight of her.

She had the same blond that afflicted her brother's heads, such a light color. It was nearly white. And how full of life she was-howling with petit fists clenched.

They severed the cord and cleaned the crimson from her body. The girl was wrapped inside a blanket and handed to her mother.

It was almost as though Ivan was watching a scene from God himself. An angelic woman with her sweet newborn, crying of sorrow and happiness and all the emotions she had ever felt. They all returned, causing the woman to burst into the oddest of sentiments.

Katya was beautiful. A shining Madonna kept upon a cleanly shelf.

Anna was placed within Ivan's arms, little features soaking in a new peace. Ivan's enormous fingers removed those droplets, lips adhering to the girl's brow and bright cheeks.

Oh, he _loved_ this daughter of his. It was inexplicable- the all consuming adoration that drowned the man unmercifully. Ivan could not articulate this love. It was impossible to place into sound. It simply _was_.

Anna. Anna Ivanovna.

Mr. Braginski took his daughter's hand, that thumb rubbing over each of her miniscule knuckles. A trinket.

She was going to be lovely, this little Anna girl. Ivan could see it.

He could call her Annushka and allow her blissful pink dresses. That's what little girls enjoyed. Correct?

"Ivan…May I see her?"

"Yes, of course." So the miniature thing was returned to her mother, and the father joined her upon the mattress, before everyone's judgmental sights. And he did not care what they thought. There was affection for that family he had created. Both Katya and Anna needed to know they were loved. What sort of father pulls from the woman who just gave birth to his child?

Ivan was unwilling to be horrendous, even if taking a place next to Katya was taboo.

And another life began. Into the happiness and sorrow and scrutiny of all those blood thirsty eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

A few weeks after Anna was born, Natasha returned home. She found that familiar mansion and all the faces inside of it. Her clothing was dark, as though the princess was in mourning, and her face was drained and tired.

Natasha might as well have dug graves for the last several months. Placing holes within the earth, and then shoving corpses into the soil. What depressing work. And what a sad woman.

Everyone stared at her.

The wife was a phantom. She destroyed a room and disappeared. Natasha had died. And then, she returned, reborn into something far more hideous and cruel than her former self.

Her innocence was gone. The happiness drained from her face and took the rouge with it. A lemon squeezed far too hard.

Natasha was just as sour.

She found her husband within his office, the bastard daughter's crib contained within the corner, for Katya was busy with either of those sons.

The two stared at one another. Two titans locked in a harsh grip of a frozen mirror world.

Ivan could not bring himself to speak her name. It tasted of glass and blood. Like poison.

Like bitter lemon juice.

"Katya had her child."

"Yes." There was a pause before the man carried on, a document signed in the center of it.

"Is it a girl?"

"Yes."

Silence ticked by, the whisper of an opinionated lock observing from the wall's keep. Tick. Tick. Tick.

"What did you name her?"

"Anna."

"Anna?" Mouth puckering. "A simple name. It fits perfectly, her mother being such a simpleton herself." Natasha came to the child. Brushing a bit of that golden hair from her brow. Oh it was so thin and so light. Platinum blond and glowing as silver. It would glisten in the moon light.

Natasha hated her already.

"I'm not quite sure why you came back. For Andrei and Dmitri?"

"Not only for them. This is my home as well. Just because I need to go away for a while doesn't mean I'll never return. If you were in my position, wouldn't you run, at least for a while?"

The man did not answer.

"I missed my children. How have they been?"

"Well, they've been fine. I can say for certain that they haven't missed you. It's not as though they ever really _had_ you. When you were here, I recall you sitting in my parlor, eating chocolate and reading. Day in and day out. Perhaps a break to feed Andrei and Dmitri, but that was all you saw of them."

"Oh, judgment from husband of the year. Tell me, Ivan. How is that serf of yours? That little whore that gave you this skid mark of a girl? Has she been sleeping in my bed as well?"

"I've considered it."

"Have you? Well, either of you lying wretches deserve one another."

"Why couldn't you stay gone?" Ivan did not miss a beat. "Things were peaceful without you here. You dare to call Katya and me wretches? Katya is twice the woman you will ever be, and three times the mother. At least she doesn't sit on her ass each day, drowning her depression in literature and fattening sweets, feigning love for her children. The boys lover her. I love her. And I'm sure Anna will love her as well. But no one loves you, you terrible wench."

Natasha's glare was sharp as shattered glass.

"If you whip Katya again, I'll beat you. You can blame me for what happened, but leave that woman alone."

"_I do blame you._"

"Good. Now please, get out of my office."

So Natasha left, shattering one of the many photographs kept upon the wall. The frame dropped. The glass exploded. And little Anna began to weep, the loud noise frightening her.

Immediately, the father rushed to his daughter, comforting her with a stomach aching in bile.

He hated that woman.

He hated her with a full heart and an angry soul.

So the wife returned, dressed in black and wearing her rage upon every fiber of her sleeve. She floated around those halls as a phantom and made the entire home uncomfortable.

But they did speak to one another.

The woman existed in one part of the palace and the man inside the other.

One day, shortly after the demon's arrival, Katya was found in a barren corridor, holding her infant. Natasha had a small boy at either hand, mumbling tiny Russian words and kicking their happy little legs.

Their gazes met, something of a surreal scene occurring between them.

There they were, the mothers of children that came from the same man. Half siblings, every single one of them. In a way, they had both been eaten up. Used. But Katya was not cast aside. She was not smashed- a broken statue no one bothered to clean from the floor.

Ivan was under the delusion he _adored_ her.

How stupid.

"Good day, Natasha." The sweet thing gulped-these situations couldn't be handled. Katya was cracking beneath the pressure of the wife's stare.

"Good day, Katya." Dmitri tried desperately to break from his mother's palm.

Stabbing quiet.

"I want you to leave."

The serf could hardly speak. "Natasha, I-"

"I'm giving you freedom, so long as you never return. Imagine it. You can be your own woman."

The hand grew firm against Dmitri's tiny wrist.

"You might have to follow orders. I could see you being employed as a maid or something of the sort. But you'll receive pay. You can own your own little home. A nice pink house, just at the edges of the city. Doesn't that sound lovely?"

"Well, I-What of Anna? I couldn't generate enough pay to take care of her."

"I don't know, Katya. But she's your child. You've got to take care of her some way." There was something terrible within Natasha's visage. "Listen." The younger of the twins had been relapsed, small legs leading Dmitri to the slave's folding gown. "I'll make it simpler for you." A little black purse was reached into, an entire roll of fat roubles plucked from it. There must have been a hundred of them.

A million of them. Kept inside Natasha's horrendous fist.

And the entire cluster was offered to Katya.

"No, no. I-I…"

"You what, darling? You can't take it? Of course you can. I know you love my husband. One can hardly blame you. But what of your freedom? Do you honestly wish to spend the rest of your life here? Working your poor hands to the bone? If Ivan hasn't given you liberation yet, he never will. Even having his child was not enough to grant you something like _equality._"

Katya was staring at her adversary, she in white and Natasha in black. It was like bargaining with Satan. The woman knew she shouldn't listen.

Oh, but _freedom._

_Freedom. _

A little pink house, all her own.

Katya glanced to the boy at her skirts, sitting upon the toes of her beaten shoe. And she glanced to the daughter in her arms, who no longer seemed to be hers. Perhaps she never was.

Then, she glanced to the woman, head to toe in ebony, and all the currency in her hand. There were so many notes-an entire fortune that hardly sat within Natasha's grasp.

Breath was evident within the servant's ears.

It was painful.

"I can truly go?"

"Yes, Katya. You may go."

"And the money-"

"All of it, yours. It's probably enough-to get you at least somewhere. But you must leave immediately. At least by tonight."

Katya took in air. "I won't be able to support Anna. I know I won't. Perhaps I'll have enough for a place to live, but…A maid's pay isn't meant for two, much less a growing girl. She'd live in poverty."

"So leave her."

"Leave her?"

"Yes, Katya. Don't you realize that child will only chain you to the past? Every time you look at her, you'll see Ivan-the man who impregnated you, told you he loved you-and still kept you to a life of unpaid servitude. Is it worth it to keep her? So you can both live in misery, dividing pay to feed and clothe both of you? Or, you can leave her here, to a life of meals and silk and warmth, while you can taste the whole world, with nothing shackling you to this hell hole."

The woman's heart was burning, changing entirely. It was something of a metamorphosis. The fat and helpless caterpillar to the free and gorgeous butterfly.

"Do you hate my daughter, Natasha?"

"Heavens no, Katya! None of this is dear Annushka's fault. None what-so-ever. All children are innocent and lovable, including that child attached to your arm.

Pause. "You whipped me out of spite. How can I trust you?"

"Well, consider this an apology." The roubles were pushed into the serf's hand. "I was horrendously angry then. I couldn't tell you the fire that was exploding inside my heart…But I've had my time away from this place, and now I'm healed. There's no true rage left." The wife glanced to her son. "I'm sorry, Katya."

"I'm sorry as well, Natasha…Perhaps it would be best for me to leave. I've ruined your lives, and now my daughter-" A slighter choke. "I can't give her this life. She might as well starve to death at my side."

"No one wants that."

Silence.

"Well, I'm going to the garden with my sons. Come here, Dmitri." The boy looked up at his mother, those wet lips happy. His wrist was stolen once more, body dragged upwards. "Good-bye, Katya. I trust you'll lead a fine life."

"Yes…Thank you, Natasha."

"Of course."

Anna was returned to her crib, the man in the office missing.

Oh, how heart breaking.


	8. Chapter 8

By the next morning, Katya was gone. There was no sight of her, no trace. She had vanished into thin air, just as Natasha had. And just as the wife's disappearance, there was no promise of her return.

It was almost certain she would not.

At first, Ivan looked for her, searching about the mansion in a kind of desperation. Where had she gone where she would not take Anna?

Finally, the man looked to Natasha, who was wearing far too coy a smile.

"Where is Katya?"

They were standing across from one another, the woman layered well in a bitter kind of pleasure. Something had occurred behind the husband's turned back. The fact that he had been inattentive for even a moment gave that wench the perfect opportunity to utilize her dagger.

She had become an eagle, sweeping down and catching the unsuspecting mouse.

"Well, I don't know where she is exactly. But that woman is long gone. I saw her leave just before midnight, a bag full of clothing on one hand a wad of cash in other."

"I don't believe you."

"And why shouldn't you, Ivan? I'm certain I'm not the only one who saw her going. Certainly, she left when everyone was practically unconscious, but I was aware. I can't be the only one."

The man had to pause. "Did you send her away?"

"Heavens no. That's your job, _darling_."

"Then why didn't you stop her?"

"Can you honestly think of one sane reason _I _would be the one top force that thief to stay? If Katya wants to go, then let her go. It's a bit of shameful that she would leave her very own child behind, but if one of them is gone, I'm satisfied. After all, Anna is innocent. Katya wasn't."

"You're not telling the truth."

"Well, you can't prove that. The only think I can do is report what _I _saw. It's not my fault if you don't want to believe me. Of course, I can hardly blame you, Ivan. It is absolute lunacy that someone you _adored_ so much would go and do such a horrendous thing. But I can't say I'm all that shocked. Any woman who was capable of sleeping with a married man is certainly capable of thievery. We already knew the woman was a liar."

Ivan merely looked wounded, uncertain of what to believe.

"I should alert the police."

"Now why on earth would you do that? Just so they can bring that whore back? So she can take more of our things and go running away a second time? Let her go, Ivan. She apparently didn't wish to be here, and I'll feel safer knowing there's one less thief in this home. I'll take the loss. At least she didn't take more than just a handful."

There was nothing left inside that dry reservoir. The broken husband's mouth was decrepit as a wasteland, entire tongue laced in sharp sand.

What was one to say in such a situation? Ivan was half certain that Natasha was lying to him and unwilling to believe that Katya had indeed stolen from him and ran away.

It was not right. But the woman had a point. There was no proof her words were untrue. Natasha had nothing against her, just as Katya had nothing in her defense.

A part of Mr. Braginski deceased. It rolled up and died. It froze and shattered. It drowned. Bloated and purple. But no one had found it upon the shore.

Oh, the overwhelming ache.

Like being burned alive.

"I'm sorry, Ivan." Natasha touched her husband's hand. "But listen, I'm ready to make up. That's part of the reason why I returned."

"I don't want to make up, Natasha. I want to be left alone." That enormous palm was claimed back. "I'm sorry that I hurt you, but there's no possible way I can speak. I just need to-I need to be alone."

And the separated remained separated. A sad chasm throwing them even further apart from one another, as though they were living on different edges of the world.

Natasha wondered what she had done.

Had cutting away the cancer assassinated the patient?

Only time would tell.

The Braginski family was plunged forward.


	9. Chapter 9

Eventually, the wounds healed, to a degree. There were still the hideous scars, hidden beneath clothing and jewelry and fine white gloves. The scent of perfume helped as well.

Ivan never found out why Katya truly left.

But some things were easier forgotten. It brought pain to think of her. Like tearing away the scab from a sore lip.

Natasha and Ivan fell into bitter indifference. Natasha did what Natasha did. Ivan did what Ivan did. They worked together when society demanded their partnership. There was no love. No hate. Just nothing. Just two people forced together.

It was easier that way.

Perhaps you could call it making up.

And of course, the children grew.

Andrei, Dmitri and Anna were raised as though they all had the same mother. No one had told them otherwise. The entire affair was folded into a miniscule square and hid beneath one of the many fine rugs occupying the floors of that grand mansion.

This didn't stop Natasha from playing favorites.

When Andrei and Dmitri did not do well in their studies, they were simply told to try harder. They could repeat the lesson. This happened more often with Andrei than Dmitri, but the concept remained the same between the brothers.

Anna was beaten. If she was not beaten, her face at least sustained a generous swat.

If Andrei and Dmitri had accidentally broken something, they were given a mere look of displeasure, and the mother would have cleaned it up.

Anna's ears were wrung.

If Andrei and Dmitri managed to lie, they were sent to their rooms and had dessert taken away from them.

Anna was locked outside for the night. But that stopped shortly after the third or fourth time, when Ivan noticed the distress upon his daughter's visage.

That was what truly saved the girl. Her father never donned such injustice. The love for his children was equal inside his crux. If Andrei and Dmitri got a new outfit, Anna was given a new dress. If Andrei and Dmitri received chocolate, Anna was also given something just as sweet. If Andrei and Dmitri received new toys, Anna was allowed another doll, or perhaps a few bows for her light blond hair, if the mood suited her.

Ivan, unlike Natasha loved his little Annushka. He was even tenderer with her than he was with his sons; not because of an unequal affection, but because Anna was a girl and girls were far different than boys. They could not be treated the same. That sort of fairness was simply _unfair_.

So they completed their schooling. They all learned mathematics, literature, the sciences, and French, as was customary for all little Russian boys and girls. Of course, they went in their spate directions. Anna became something of an artist-spending countless hours a day painting. Dmitri's interests included poetry and novels, which also consumed hours of his day. And then there was Andrei, who took a glance at the world and attempted to eat the entire thing in one bite.

He learned languages.

It took him to Austria.

The parents were given a long letter and a series of photographs. Natasha, in particular, was offered a heart attack.

"My Andriusha is going to get married?" Natasha's hands shook around one of the pictures her son had sent, the man standing next to a woman far smaller and intensely sweet. She had a kind brow, glowing eyes, and lengthily black hair that fell around her in shapely curls. There were spectacles against the bridge of her nose, and a beauty mark upon her chin.

Ellis Edelstein.

That was her name.

And Andrei loved her.

"Yes, apparently so. She seems like a very kind woman, from the looks of it."

"_Kind?_ Who cares about _kind?_ The girl isn't even Russian! She's Austrian-and on that topic, what sort of name is Ellis for an Austrian girl? I've never heard of an Austrian Ellis in all my life!"

"Well, now you have Natasha. I'm not certain what in the world you're getting so worked up about. Why not simply be happy for a good thing?"

The wife had nothing to say to that. She merely stole away the photograph from the letter's innards and escaped the chamber.

Ivan sighed.

And then, the news spread throughout the mansion. Dmitri heard of his brother's engagement through his mother, when he sat at his writing desk. Anna heard of the news when she was inside her studio, painting a lovely picture of an old cat she had seen upon the streets. Her father told her.

"So, Andrei is going to get married?" A bit of grey created fur. "Why? Did he knock her up?"

The cigarette in her other hand dropped a bit if ash upon the carpet.

"No, Anna. Of course not. He fell in love."

"So, what's her name?"

"Ellis Edelstein."

"An Austrian?" Grey smoke coming from gaping lips. "Well, good for him. I'm not going to hear about this, am I? "Oh Anna. Why aren't you married? You're already twenty-two years old!'"

"I can't stop the things that others say, Annushka."

Pause.

"Aren't you happy?"

"Sure. I'll be happy." The young woman stepped away from her work, showing her father that ragged animal captured so well in colors. "What do you think, Papa? Is this a good painting?"

"You're wearing trousers again."

"_Is my painting good?_"

"Anna, you know it's fine." The adoring father looked to his daughter, the loss evident about his face. "It's no wonder why everyone gives you a hard time, Anna. How are you supposed to be wed if you're constantly wearing clothing meant for men?"

"Whoever said I wanted to be wed?"

"Oh, Anna."

"What, papa? We've been over this. Now I have to get back to painting." More fur. Shading. "I'm…" Was she sorry?

Anna couldn't decide.

"Hmm."

"You're _hmm?_"

"I suppose so. I'm not really anything else."

And the father left the room, leaving his daughter to work.

Anna was a strange girl. To begin, she had grown incredibly tall and incredibly thin. In fact, the young woman was so thin; one could see the outline of her ribs. But only slightly, and she was fairly flat chested.

It didn't make much sense, why an aristocrat would be almost thinner than a homeless man-but Anna attributed it to not having enough time to eat. She was so entirely obsessed with painting, sometimes dinner was missed. And lunch. But never breakfast.

Anna was always there when the first meal of the day began, drinking tea and smoking a cigarette, while two happy eggs were placed before her.

Natasha used to glare at her faux daughter as she sucked in her tobacco, but she eventually gave up. It was hopeless.

Just as her strange wardrobe.

And her addiction to paints and canvas.

And her unmarried state.

Well. No one _truly_ gave up on the last topic. Ivan desperately wanted his daughter to be wed. And Natasha desperately wanted Anna out of the house.

And they had tried.

Oh, _Lord_. They had tried. But Anna sent every last one of her suitors running from the front doors of the Braginski home in an enraged frustration.

Whenever the young Russian was introduced to her possible husbands, the first step was to don some awful comment.

"Is your mustache _supposed_ to be shit brown?"

"How much did you pay for that outfit-no, never mind. No amount would be worth it."

"Do you always smell like a rancid gutter, or is that just my imagination?"

It was brutal.

And if that wasn't enough to deflect them (and it usually wasn't), the woman would behave as frigidly as possible, whether it meant intentionally ignoring her 'fiancé's' questions or avoiding him at a get together. If the man in question went into a room Anna happened to be in, she would go running into the next one.

Sometimes, Anna would behave as if she was drunk and spill wine all over her suitor's fine garments. Then a half hearted apology would be given and the emptied glass would be refilled.

They usually went running at that point.

There was only one man who did not. So Anna took to drawing embarrassing pictures of her stubborn possibility-nude pictures- and posted them all about the house as though they were something to relish and adore.

Anna even showed the victim her work, behaving as though she had fallen madly in love and was so excited to have him.

That was the last straw.

Natasha actually beat the child for that one.

But it was alright. The pain eventually receded. It was worth it anyway.

So that was Anna Ivanovna. And life was about to change drastically for her. For a shrew cannot be a shrew forever.


	10. Chapter 10

"Ivan, the girl needs to be married. This wedding of Andrei's has pushed the topic back into my mind. Actually, a while ago I had met a French man who was looking for a bride. He was rather attractive as well."

"Where did you meet an attractive Frenchman, Natasha?"

"At one of those stupid parties we had to attend. I'm sure he's still in Russia, if you want to give the man an attempt."

"Anna told me she didn't want to be married. What makes you think this man is so special? She's driven all the others away."

"Well, it's worth a try. And sometimes it's not about what _she_ wants. The fact is it's time for her to get married. She's far too old to go on like she's merely fifteen, painting all day. At least when she was fifteen she actually had lessons."

The father took in a mighty sigh. Then, he wrote down a few more sentences for the letter he was writing back to Andrei. "Yes, well. If you want to try this one, then go ahead and contact him. But just remember, we can't make him marry our daughter if he ends up hating her."

Natasha allowed a breath of air free as well. "Maybe we need to find her a man far more awful than she is. At least, just as bad."

"I don't know, Natasha. She should choose for herself."

"_Choose for herself?_ Please. The girl would probably marry her paintbrushes before she actually selected a man." A slight pause. "I'll seek out Mr. Bonfeuille-that was his name. Hopefully, he hasn't found a woman already."

Natasha left to do just that.

Upon the other side of the house, Anna and Dmitri were in the kitchen, making little candies to give to the homeless children that inhabited the streets.

This was Dmitri's idea, of course. Perhaps he had been writing of the poor far too long. And the first time, he had to force his skeptical sister to join, but she ended up enjoying it. Now it was something the siblings did together when either was too burnt out to draw or write.

"Anna, what do you think about Andrei's engagement?"

"It's nice that he's getting married. What do you think?"

"I think it's sweet. Have you seen Ellis' photograph?"

"No. Not yet. Why? Is she lovely?"

"I think so." Dmitri placed a few of those candies within one of the many lace bags. "They're coming to visit-I think. Maybe Andrei and Ellis will get married here."

"Does Ellis speak any Russian?"

"I'm not certain." Another bag was filled quickly while Anna spooned a bit of that warmed syrup into the molds they owned. "I hope she does. I want to meet her."

The sister laughed. "It sounds like you're in love."

"No-Why must you always say things like that? Aren't you happy?"

"Why should I be, Dima? It's Andrei's wedding, and I'm hardly surprised. He had to get married at some point. But anyway-it doesn't really seem that I have the right to be all so blissful. It's not my wedding. It's just _a_ wedding. And they happen every day. It's simply my brother that's getting married this time."

Her brother merely looked at her sadly.

"Oh, come on Dmitri. We've known one another for twenty-two years. Aren't you used to me by now?"

"Yes, Anna. You simply make me sad sometimes."

"I'll help you write a poem about it." The candies were removed and more of that fluid filled the empty cavities. "We're almost done."

The elder looked to the younger.

"_What?_ I'm happy that you're happy! What's the matter?"

"Haven't you ever been _in love?_"

"No! Why would I do that now?"

"Because, Anna. It's wonderful to be in love. It's the greatest feeling in the world."

"Better than sex?"

"How do you know what _sex_ feels like?"

"How do you know?"

"I never _said_ I knew, Annushka."

"Yes, yes. Of course."

The next batch was ready.

"Are we going to hand out these candies today?"

"Well…" Dmitri's brows furrowed. "I'm tired."

"Alright. I'll do it, then."

"But what about tomorrow?"

"_What about tomorrow?_ They're ready today and you're not coming. But it's alright, Dima. I have no problem taking care of this." The candies were placed inside a brown paper bag and Anna left the room, Dmitri in his position with a sigh boiling within his throat.

It was difficult to speak with her at times.

That was the exact reason Dmitri was not truly tired, and precisely why he was not coming along.

So Anna went outside to find the carriage, as there was far too much ground to cover on foot, and sitting with it was an attractive young man with bright spectacles. He was sitting where the driver normally sat, and was reading a lengthily novel.

His pretty blue eyes accosted Anna, who stood in her place, staring back at him.

"Where is Victor?"

"Victor retired. He was far too old for the job. I'm Alfred."

"Alfred?" The one sitting upon that bench looked like an Alfred. Something about the young man made Anna horrendous and intrigued and even slightly upset. He was a bruise upon her lily white flesh and those dainty fingers could not stop jabbing at him. The pain was inspirational.

It made Anna wish to paint.

"How old are you?"

"I'm twenty-four, miss."

"You have a baby face. I'd guess you to be eighteen."

"Was that a compliment or an insult?"

"It was a back-handed compliment. But I like you, so don't worry about it." Those legs took the woman to the driver's seat, next to the man who was to drive her into town.

"Miss, I think you're supposed to sit _inside_ the carriage."

"I think you're supposed to shut that cute little mouth of yours and take me into town. Or are we both wrong?" One of the bags of flower-shaped lemon drops was given to Alfred. "Have some candy, because I like you. I made it myself, and if you don't like it, then pretend you do. My brother and I worked hard on those."

"Can I eat one now?"

"I would highly suggest it."

So Alfred ate one of those fine lemon drops, and he enjoyed it. Then he turned to his counterpart. "It's good. So where are we going?"

"Just into town. I don't really care where _exactly_. Actually-that's not true. Take me to one of the poorer areas."

"Yes, ma'am. Whatever you like."

The wheels upon the carriage began to roll forward, as the horses strolled, and the young woman glanced into her bag of confections. It was unbelievable how many she and Dmitri had created-and each candy was happy. Joyous little drops of gold shining beneath the sun's touch. It reminded her of childhood. Those kinds days coated in simple joys, where complete satisfaction was taken from playing outside with siblings. They would eat little treats themselves, treats their mother had made.

There were actually times when Natasha could be kind.

But now, she was old and sour. A fruit that was once sweet and delicious turned to some rotten mess one would not wish to even glance at. The cruelty was evident inside her eyes, as though some grand tragedy had bent her heart into a weapon.

"Miss Anna!"

"_What?_ What? Who told you my name? What is it? Don't scare me that way."

"Actually, I learned everyone's name before my first say of service. You're Anna; your mother is Natasha. Your father is Ivan Braginski, and your twin brothers are Andrei and Dmitri. Andrei is currently in Austria."

"Yes, that's all correct. So what did you want to ask?"

"I was simply curious you wanted to go to the poor side of town."

"I'm going to give these candies to homeless children."

"How kind of you." A slight pause. "What were you thinking about so deeply? I called your name about three times."

"I was thinking about my mother. She's a terrible woman, but there were times when she was actually kind to me. I was simply wondering what made her so bitter. But it really doesn't matter. Knowing the reason doesn't alter a damn thing."

"I'm sorry, miss. But your father seems to be a kind man."

"He is a kind man." A deep thought. "I suppose everyone had a good and a bad parent. It's not right to play favorites, but everyone _does_. It can't be helped."

"No, it can't be."

"How about you?"

"Well, I never had any parents, but my older brother took care of me."

"It was difficult, wasn't it?"

"Yes, but we survived."

They sat in silence a while, before Anna stopped the carriage and escaped, a few bags of those sweets within her long, thin fingers. They were given to several children dressed in rags, who looked at that woman as one would observe a goddess. They word "Спасибо" could hardly be uttered.

To their gaping stares Anna said, "It's candy. You'll enjoy it."

Then, she hoped back onto that carriage, next to the driver, and the two went onward.

Anna stared at her counterpart for a good few moments as they traveled. She examined his face, his features, those bright glasses settled upon his nose. Lips. Ears.

Everything.

"You're not Russian."

"No, miss. I'm American."

"So you speak English?"

"Yes, I do."

"Do you speak French? Because you know, everyone of importance speaks French."

"_Oui. Je sais, mademoiselle_."

"Good, now stop. I hate French." Those cool sapphires touched to the man's cheek. "Important people speak French and smart people hate it. Those bastards make me sick." A cigarette was taken from the girl's shirt pocket. "Is that horrible?"

"Well, they have been pushing toward Russia. It seems anyone in Europe is in danger of war. I can't say I blame you. I might even feel the same if I wasn't detached."

"But you live here, don't you?"

"Of course, but I'm still American. Russia can never be my country. Neither can France; not even England. I'm just watching one giant attempt to eat another."

"That's a good way of putting it." The cigarette was lit and one of those handsome rolls was given to the driver. "Do you smoke?"

"I do now."

Anna smiled.

And they went on, until all the lemon drops were given away, and the two landed back home. Either cast little glances to one another. Alfred found Anna intriguing and Anna found Alfred intriguing. She wanted to tear his clothing off and paint little bruises all about that tanned flesh. Anna wished to ruin that wonderful olive complexion-eat away every little bit of that man with her sexy red lips and set his flesh on fire.

She wanted to make him scream.

And wail.

And moan.

Then beg her for more; until it hurt.

They stopped outside the mansion. And the two looked at one another.

"Come here, Alfred. I have to tell you a secret."

"Are you going to kiss me?"

A touch to the cheek by cherry lips. "Not anymore." Another. "Good job. I was going to kiss you on the mouth, but-" Smooch. "You ruined the surprise." Then, that thin body descended from the seat. "Come by my room tomorrow at noon. I want to paint you."

Then, the princess disappeared, before Alfred could ask if he should bring clothing.


	11. Chapter 11

Alfred came at noon, as commanded. He stood at Anna's door, just after knocking, heart evident inside his chest.

This was her study, wasn't it?

Did he have the right area?

The porthole opened. And there was Anna, dressed in a white blouse and trousers with pretty silver stripes running from the top to the bottom. She regarded her guest, those lips coming into a rare sort of grin.

The cigarette was removed and smoke drifted from that cavity.

"You came; good." The woman walked back into her parlor, Alfred following behind her. "Sit down over here." A stray chair was pointed to, somewhat old and wizened.

"Miss, how long is this going to take?"

"Oh, for God's sake. Don't call me 'Miss'. We're practically the same age. I'm _Anna_, or _Anya_. Hell Alfred, I'll even let you call me Annushka. And it's not going to take that long. The sketch comes first; then I'll paint it later. Give me an hour." A puff upon the cigarette. "Don't tell me you actually want to go back outside and sit with that carriage."

"No, I don't."

"Well, good. You're normal." Anna took one of her fine pencils and began to sketch the man's outline. "So tell me about yourself."

"Aren't I supposed to stay perfectly still?"

"What? You have to move around while you speak? Don't move your limbs. Move your mouth. I can still draw you."

"Oh, alright. Well…What do you want to know?'

"What do you like to do?"

"Reading…I also like to dance."

"You like to dance?" Smoke. "That's rare. What else?"

"Food." Alfred's mouth curled up at the ends.

"Me too. Do you like to cook?"

"Yes, I do."

Silence. And Anna drew several more lines, Alfred's face coming onto the canvas. It was very light. Nothing more than a few grey lines. But it was there.

Oh, what a beautiful man.

Anna enjoyed everything about his expression. The strong shape of it. The sweet blue eyes surrounded by handsome black lashes. The way his mouth formed words. The hue of his flesh.

"You usually try to do the right thing, don't you?"

"I suppose so."

"Hmm." Anna secured her bottom lip. "You have an honest face."

"Thank you."

Sketch. "So what else do you enjoy?"

"Music."

"Music? Everyone likes music."

"Well, what do you like, Anna?"

"I like drawing and painting. I also like to cook, even though I'm not that wonderful at it. Maybe I would enjoy dancing if I had a good dance partner. But, I haven't _really_. I'm just too damn tall." A few more lines, stuck upon the paper. "I step on his feet. He steps on mine. Everyone has an awful time."

"You could always dance alone."

"You can?"

"Sure you can. Who's going to stop you?"

Anna nodded. Then, she placed the dying tobacco inside on the ash tray near her canvas.

"Are you allowed to smoke in the house, Anna?"

"Well, not really. But, after a while my parents just gave up. Besides, my mother smokes all the damn time. It's a little silly to say that smoking is wrong when you do so yourself. I swear, that woman has screamed at me with tobacco in her mouth about having tobacco in my mouth. I'm not going to follow rules that no one else follows. And we're not the only two. Papa smokes cigars and when Andrei was here, he smoked too."

"So Dmitri doesn't smoke?"

"No. Dmitri is a good boy. He hardly does anything wrong. Of course, mother wants him to be married as well, but…"

"He's a man."

"Yes." A few moments were given to the canvas. "What do you think about that, Alfred?"

"I think anyone who tries force a woman wearing pants to marry is wasting their time." Pause. "But I can understand it. You're their little girl. And the little girl gets worried about more than her elder brothers, even if she smokes and wears trousers. It's just how their minds work."

"I suppose you're right. It still makes me upset."

"I'm guessing you don't want to be married."

"Well…"The pencil whispered upon the page. "It's not that I don't _want_ to be married. I simply don't want to be married to a man my parents pick. Tell me, why should I chain myself to someone I don't even love, while I raise his children-that I had to carry for nine months-and listen to his demands? I have reservations for doing those things for a man _I like_. Much less, someone I've only met that was approved by a woman I can hardly stand. Would you be happy signing yourself away to something like that?"

"No. Probably not."

"No. And others give me a hard time for it. To them, I'm Anna the Shrew. I've driven away plenty of men by my reputation alone. But it's simple when you don't care. Why does every woman require meaning by finding a husband? I decided to make my own meaning. I paint. I draw. I create art. I don't need anything more than my brushes and pigments."

"It that why you wear pants?"

"Well…You can't accomplish anything wearing a gown. These trousers were cheap in comparison to one of those fancy dresses. Besides, there's less frills to ruin. It's simpler this way."

"I see."

"Have you every worn a dress, Alfred?"

"No." The man's face turned slightly red.

"It's alright if you have. I won't judge you. In fact, we're just about the same height." A terrible, terrible smile. "I bet you'd be pretty."

"Stop."

The pair grinned to one another.

Then, the session faded into a kind of contemplative silence, where Anna stood alone inside her own sphere and drew her American captive. With every stroke of her pencil, her heart warmed. But only slightly. There was a definite liking for this man. He did not scrutinize her with harsh vision. He did not question her odd nature and that coldness she handed to just about everyone. To Alfred, Anna was Anna. Not Anna the Shrew. Not Anna the strange in her stripped trousers. Not Anna the transvestite whore.

She was simply Anna.

And Anna had not had any friends in quite a while.

The portrait was completed in under an hour.

The pencil sat within its normal position, and the woman came closer to the man, allowing her mouth to his warmed cheek.

And Alfred kissed her back, near that snow white ear.

"Anna, you've only met me twice."

"So what?" Another smooch. "Aren't I allowed to like you?"

"Yes, you can."

"Would you rather have me _not_ like you?"

"No, Anna. This is quite fine." One of those strong hands touched the side of the tall creature's face. "You're very soft. But I have to be back outside."

"Did you tell anyone you were coming here?"

"No."

"You should go then. I'll paint your picture later today."

"Alright. Thank you."

"No, thank you." A sweet combination of lips, for a few mere seconds.

"Good-bye, Alfred."

"Good-bye, Anna."

And the carriage drover went away, leaving the princess to her hues.


	12. Chapter 12

Francis Bonfeuille stood on the front steps of the Braginski household, smoking a fine cigarette and waiting patiently for an answer. He was quite cool; there was nowhere to be, nothing urgent to be done.

Today was going to a fine day for Francis. He had decided it.

Out of all the Frenchman in the world, he was one of the Frenchest. Dressed in fine clothes from Paris, a French face with feathery blond hair (kept slightly long) and happy blue eyes. There had not been much sorrow inside his life.

A bit of that gold was pushed behind an ear.

Francis was the sort of man almost any woman would find handsome. All of his features were gorgeous and shaped together quite well. Nicely kept brows. Handsome lips. Emotive sapphires laced in thick blond lashes. A French kind of nose to tie the entire package together. A build that was not skinny or fat, but _fit_. He looked good in clothes. He looked good outside of clothes.

Hell. Francis just looked _good_.

The door opened.

"_Francis Bonfeuille_. I'm here to see Natasha." Russian with a heavy accent, weighing upon each and every word.

"Yes, sir. Right this way."

The pretty Frenchman was lead to Natasha's parlor-the very same parlor she had raised her sons in-and met the woman herself. The man was introduced. The serf left the room, and they were all alone.

"_Bonjour, Madame_. It's nice to see you after all of this time. How have you been?"

"Oh, I've been just fine. How have you been? I trust well."

"Yes. Things have been nice for me here."

"Well, things usually do go well for beautiful people. That's precisely why they're beautiful. It's difficult to appear lovely when the entire world is shaping your face. But-I should get to business-"

"If I may ask, where is your husband, Madame? Isn't it inappropriate for gorgeous women to be along with a man?"

Natasha laughed. "Oh, you're terrible. But our business should be fast. There's no reason we'd be in here that long."

"What business is there to have with someone like me?"

"Well-to be blunt, I want you to marry my daughter. That is, unless you've already found a wife-but I recall you telling me that you wanted a Russian bride, and I so happen to have a Russian girl. Now-she's a little bit older-Twenty-two, but she's lovely. Or-_can_ be lovely."

"_Can_ be?"

"She wears trousers. I think because she spends all her days painting, and painting in a gown is a mess. Regardless, Anna is a pretty girl."

"_Anna?_"

"Yes. That's the name of my predicament."

"I like her already."

"Well, that's quite the relief. I assume, then, that you haven't found a wife?"

"No, not yet. I'm still looking for the correct woman."

"Wonderful. Perhaps you'll find Anna to be correct. Would you like to meet her?"

"Certainly. Please, introduce us."

"Of course. Allow me to get her."

So Natasha left the room, only momentarily. What was she to tell that unruly whore? It was simply divined that Anna would not be happy with this. Hell, the girl never _was_ happy. It was trying to embrace a thorn bush that spit out tumble weeds.

And when she produced flowers, the plant was enchanting. But still, her branches brought pain to the touch and blood from the flesh.

Natasha could feel her fists clenching at that very second.

Threats. Maybe threats would work.

Torture?

It was a possibility.

Oh. There was the door.

The supposed mother came in. Anna was finishing the last few touches of color upon the driver boy's portrait.

It was the finest thing she had ever painted; a true masterpiece. Every shade was well in place and all the hues blended together as a sky's pigments during sunset. The young man's eyes were brilliant-hair golden as a field of sunflowers. The canvas inhaled perfection like roses.

Anna didn't even notice Natasha come in.

"There's a man here to see you-A Frenchman."

"I hate the French. Tell him to leave."

"No, Anna. You're going to marry this man."

"Then poison him and tell him to leave. Either of you are ruining my art-perhaps I could even paint him dying in the streets. Would you mind taking a photograph?"

"Anna, if you don't come at once, I'll destroy that portrait and beat you."

The brush pulled back from the background and the artist turned to face her mother, a cigarette contained between the middle and index finger of her left hand. "If I come with you, will you leave my painting alone?"

"Yes."

The mother regarded her child's shining corners- the image she had given such vibrant life to.

Her chest would implode if it was ruined.

"Fine. I'll come. Allow me to clean up."

"You have five minutes. We'll be waiting in my parlor."

Anna, after that woman left the room, commenced cleaning her brushes and rearranging all of those tubes. And she did so quickly.

Natasha was not the type to play, and had it been any other piece, she might even allow the woman to tear it to shreds. But her entire crux had been kept inside that image. It was a garden expressing the passion within her blood.

It was the drive to live and the love she never allowed to anyone. Murdering the picture of that driver boy was murdering Anna Ivanovna herself.

So she met the Frenchman, hands dyed numerous colors and hair secured back in a messy bun.

He shook her hand.

"_Bonjour, Mademoiselle_. It's nice to meet you. I'm Francis Bonfeuille."

"_Bonjour_." Anna wished to roll those eyes beneath crinkled brows. But she swallowed her upset. At least, until her mother left the room. "I'm Anna."

Natasha watched a brief moment; then opened the doors that led out into the garden, a table waiting for the pair. "Come outside, the both of you. Sit and speak. Get to know one another. I'll have tea brought out."

They took their seats, and the door was shut behind them. The young woman watched as the elder scurried away.

"So you're going to be my husband? I don't see it." The artist stood, pulled a cigarette from her pocket and placed it in her mouth. "Light?"

"_What?_"

"_Do you have a match book?_ I hope you do. I'm not marrying a man that doesn't smoke. If you're not willing to take up a bad habit for me, then get the hell out of my chair." Anna's heels, dressed in ornate house slippers, sat at the rim of the table.

Francis laughed. "So, Miss Anna, do you keep a pair of marbles tied between your legs?"

"I certainly do. And I bet they're larger than yours."

The Frenchman grinned.

"Where the fuck is the matchbook, _Bonfeuille?_"

It was placed against the table's surface.

"Good job. You pass." The tip of that roll was lit, beginning to burn evenly. The dead match was blown out and flicked into the grass.

"I see what you're trying to do, Miss Ivanovna. And I hope you know that I like a challenge. Normal girls-these frail little things in fragile white lace-bore me to death. But woman like yourself-rare as they are-make me salivate. So please, don't hold back. Hit me with everything you've got."

A puff of smoke left the woman's mouth. "I've had eight fiancés. Every one of them has run from the front door screaming. What makes you special? You honestly believe you can claim me? I've seen a million of you. Pretty-faced young men with nothing better to do than go to other countries and collect women. Hell, my brother is one of them. He's actually getting married to an Austrian girl. So, do you even have any hobbies outside of womanizing?"

"Not really. But I do enjoy a good read. Perhaps some fine art. I even enjoy tasting wine. Your turn."

"I paint and make candy. That's it."

"You make candy?"

"And paint."

"Why?"

"I adore creating portraits and I like to give sweets to the numerous homeless children lining the streets."

"Really now?"

"Yes, really."

"Do you like children, Anna?"

"When they're good. But not when they're whining. So, I suppose I don't like children, because that seems to be the case most of the time. However, I do feel miserable when I see them starving to death with nothing over their heads. However they behave, it doesn't matter. There hasn't been enough sin in their lives to earn that treatment. What has a child done wrong that its parents didn't teach it?"

"Nothing."

Anna smoked her cigarette for a few long seconds, inhaling all the fumes she possible could.

"Children don't deserve misery unless they're being punished for doing something wrong."

"No, they don't."

The quiet set in.

What was one to do in this situation?

"Are we done here, Bonfeuille? I have a painting to create. I was torn away from my art to speak with you, and if you have nothing to say then I have no reason to remain. If you're going to tear me from my masterpiece, the very least you could so is entertain me."

"I don't think I can match a masterpiece's level of interest."

"Well, then we're finished here. Tell my mother you're satisfied. So that way she won't take my portrait and ruin it."

"Why would she do that?"

"I was told I needed to speak with you, or my painting would be destroyed."

"She would do that to you?"

"This is the same woman that pulled out a lock of my hair because I took a piece of cake into my room before dinner. What do you think?"

Francis managed to wear sadness upon that handsome face.

"Don't feel sorry for me."

"Well, how about I come back with you? You can tell Natasha that you wished to show me your work.

"Do whatever you please, Bonfeuille. I simply need to get back now."

The tea arrived. And Francis followed Anna back to her chamber, to watch as she finished her darling piece.

There was no attention paid to fact that Anna was painting another man-or that Frenchman was inside her chamber. Francis only marveled at the woman's immense talent, and the great concentration she gave in expressing her innermost self.

It was not a driver boy she was embodying.

It was the adoration pulsing throughout her veins.

Watching the cruel Russian princess only made the man more attracted to her, willing for more of her abuse and hungry for a taste of her emotion.

Francis was determined to crack this impossible shell.

Because no one who had such a wondrous talent for color and form could be entirely cruel. Inside of that harsh machine, there was a soft and kind core.

Goddamn it. Francis would locate it and swallow it whole.

The Frenchman left both invigorated and determined.

He would have his Russian bride yet.


	13. Chapter 13

Anna walked into her father's study and sat across from him, lips pressed nicely into something pleasant for once.

"Hello, Annushka. What makes you smile?"

"I finished a painting. And it looks wonderful."

"That's excellent. I figured you had come to complain about your terrible Frenchman."

"Don't mention that bastard. I'm in a good mood. It doesn't need to be ruined by bringing up that goddamn Bonfeuille."

"So, I can assume you're not pleased?"

"No. I'm not." The girl attempted to brush off her upset, but only managed to do so minimally. "But I'll get rid of him by myself, as I always do."

"You should at least give the man a chance. I heard he's quite handsome."

"I don't care about that."

Either party remained silent.

"Well, Anna. I do have good news. Your brother is returning home from Austria with his fiancé. Another letter was sent, though- it's doubtful they received my reply yet. I was told Ellis wouldn't mind getting married in Russia-she speaks French, you know."

"Well, I suppose it's a good enough language to know."

"Yes. Are you excited to meet her?"

"Are you excited, Papa?"

"Of course." The man's soft blue eyes stared into Anna's razor sharp gems. "It's wonderful that one of my children are getting married, and from what Andrei told me in his letter- to a very sweet and intelligent young woman. She plays the piano as well-he wouldn't stop raving about her musical skills. I'm truly quite excited to have her become a part of my family."

"You'll have one good daughter, then."

"No, Anna. I'll have two."

The stillness ticked away upon the wall.

"Does it bother you that I don't wish to marry? I'm sure it's at the very front of your mind, with Andrei's wedding coming up."

"Anna, you're not a normal girl by any means. I would feel terrible dooming you to a life of solitude, but I would feel even more terrible forcing you to marry a man you couldn't tolerate. If you want to get married, then you will. But you don't. At least-not at the moment. Perhaps you'll find a man later in your life. I'm not certain, Annushka. I simply want you to be happy. And if painting is what gives you joy, then I have no right to stop you."

The young woman's brows furrowed. "Why can't mother be like you?"

"Because Natasha is a horrible woman. If I had my choice, I would have never married her. It's part of the reason I can't arrange a marriage for you. I couldn't live with myself if your life became mine."

"I'm sorry, Papa."

"It's quite alright. I've had numerous years to accept it."

The hush came back.

And Ivan thought to himself, of the serf woman no one knew about. It had crossed his mind numerous times to tell Anna the truth. To cast away this veil of deceit and give her reality. But the consequences were stacked high.

She was old enough to know.

Time had passed and with each year, the secret was easier to bear. But it was a fatal illness pressed against the hide of an immortal. The pain was adjusted to, even if there was a cancerous growth eating up most of the man's back.

A sigh.

Anna deserved to know, didn't she?

Perhaps she already had found out. Natasha' tongue was slick.

"I love you."

"I love you too, Papa. I don't want you to be unhappy."

"Well, thank you. That's comforting to know."

Pause. "Listen. I'll try this goddamn Frenchman out. But only for you. Do don't go thinking I'm enjoying myself or anything along those lines. But if I find him distasteful, I'm not going to marry the man."

"Of course not. Спасибо, Anna."

The tall creature nodded, pushing a bit of her hair behind her ear. "Well. I just wanted to tell you about my painting. I'll be going now."

"Alright. Good-bye."

Anna had the best relationship with her father out of all the members of her family. Of course, she still got along well with Andrei and Dmitri, but her only powerful bond existed with Ivan.

She might still speak with him if they were not related.

But the others-no. Natasha would be entirely discarded. Andrei would be known a few weeks and forgotten. Dmitri would remain in her heart long after their good-bye.

But Ivan. Anna loved Ivan. He showed her kindness when Natasha donned cruelty. When the mother's whip scarred the delicate child's flesh, Ivan washed the wounds and wrapped up that torn hide. He gave her chocolate when Natasha deprived her of desert. He held her when those arms were lonely and begging.

Ivan prevented Anna's heart from freezing over completely. Ivan allowed doubt into her mind that there _was_ some good in humanity's basket of thorns. Ivan gave his daughter hope. It was not much, but it kept her lungs working and removed the attributes of a corpse.

He couldn't save her entirely. Natasha still made her harsh. But Ivan made her at least alright.

It was the best he could accomplish.

And that was all Anna could ask.

The painting was taken from the stand and carried to the garage, the artist smoking a cigarette and strutting in her odd trousers.

One couldn't possibly tell, but Anna was happy. She was happy and proud and bursting at the seams. Because she wanted the subject to see her work. This odd masterpiece that was to be a secret between them- a secret sealed with a heavy kiss.

"Alfred!"

"Hello, Anna."

The canvas was given to the one who inspired it.

"Don't drop it. I'll kick you between the legs." Puff. Light grey smoke. "So, what do you think?"

"Anna, this is amazing. How long did it take you?"

"A few hours. Longer than usual, but I would hate it if I didn't take the time. I know because I measured it in cigarettes. I usually smoke twenty for a portrait. This on burned up thirty-two." Puff. "But you like it, right?"

"Of course!" The American man offered his Russian counterpart a smile. And it was so genuine and kind, it made Anna desire a piece of the man's lips. Then she would paint him again.

An emotion traveled about the woman's spine.

She didn't know what it was.

Her lips even managed to curl. Sweetly. Not in the maniacal fashion they usually adhered to.

"Are you going to give this to me? If not, I'll buy it from you-"

"Shut up, Alfred. I'll let you have it." Smoke escaping her mouth. "But I want something in return. Just not money."

"Well, what do you want?"

"Joint custody."

"Joint custody?"

"Yes. I want to see it occasionally. And-" Fire from the dragon's mouth. "I want you to kiss me."

"Why do you want me to kiss you, Miss Anna?"

"Because I like you." Those brows grew crooked; dented. "To be honest, you're one of the most beautiful men I've ever seen. Your face fascinates me, and I want your lips. There's something about your eyes I don't understand. They're kind and sharp at the same time. You're intelligent, but you don't let that on. Am I correct, Alfred?"

"I suppose you are, Anna."

"Tell me, what do you think of me?"

"I think you're very strange. I don't quite understand you, or your attraction to me. But I like you as well. You're bold. And you're lovely. And I don't know you very well, but I want that to change…" Those handsome lips rose at their edges.

"Do you find it grotesque that I'm a cross-dresser?"

"No. Your clothes suit you." Pause. "You are who you are, miss. I can like you for it or I could dislike you, and fortunately, I lean towards the former."

Anna wore a bit of bliss within her eyes, but only for a moment. "Thank you. It's nice not to be detested for being different. It's not that I care. But it's nice."

Oh, look Alfred. You've managed to crack away just a bit of that great steel orb.

You've made Anna soft. At least for a moment.

It was then that Alfred discovered how lonely this woman must truly be. A misanthrope that desperately wanted to love others, but could not. She could not accept their terrible qualities, just as they could not accept her.

She was that beautiful albino that no one could wrap their mind around. And because they did not understand her, they feared and hated her.

Alfred felt lucky. Because he _was_ lucky.

Anna liked so few people.

It was an invitation to an exclusive party. Perhaps only two or three guests were invited, and he was one of them.

"Am I allowed to kiss you?"

"No, Alfred. You're not allowed to kiss me. But I don't care."

So the pair fastened their lips together, coming into a soft embrace. It was pleasant. Alfred's mouth was smooth. The two tugged upon each other, hands gripping gently to men's shirts and tongues growing even hungrier. Their buds embraced, wrestling, pushing one another aside and tying together.

Then it ended.

"Thank you. That was good. You've earned yourself a nickname, driver boy."

"Have I?"

"Yes, you have. How about Alfie?"

"That's not a very Russian, Annushka."

"So what? You're an American." The cigarette was extinguished beneath the woman's fine Italian shoe. "I'm calling you Alfie."

"Alright. That's fine, Miss Anna."

"And you _better_ call me Annushka." A cheek-bound assault. "Good-bye. Enjoy the painting."

"Good-bye."

And that was how Anna planted her bitter sweet seed into Alfred's furtive heart, while slowly falling ill by the bright pink disease herself.


	14. Chapter 14

"You're going to spend time with Francis today, so I suggest you get dressed."

Natasha stood at the doorway of her daughter's room, a mild look of disconnect haphazardly strewn about her face. The mother was not in a pleasant mood today. She hardly ever was, but this morning was especially terrible.

"Alright." Anna had just gotten up herself, and was poised at the edge of her bed, nightgown in disarray and hair even more ruined.

Natasha left the room and Anna sighed.

A bit of hatred dropped into her heart. It made her sick. But that was normal. One could not possibly describe how much Anna detested her so called mother. Natasha's presence was enough to cause the daughter's grey heart to turn charred black. Anna was a tornado and Natasha was a hurricane. They simply did not go together well.

She got dressed.

Plain blue top. Buttons.

Black trousers.

Suspenders.

Anna brushed through her tarnished locks and tied them back. Something near to a bun, but so disorganized it could have been just about anything.

Then she shoved on those fine shoes and met up with Francis. He had been waiting patiently at the breakfast table, smelling of the outdoors and cigarettes.

Anna lit one herself.

"Jesus Christ, child! Do you always have to dress that way? I can almost accept it when you're home by yourself, but you're going to be out with a man today!"

"_Madame_, it's quite fine. Anna can dress however she pleases. After all, how else am I to see how she truly is? _Non_-allow her to be herself."

Natasha glanced to her husband, wearing broken brows and half of a snarl.

Ivan just waved her off. "Anna is an adult now. She's not going to dress any other way unless it's what she desires."

The mother wanted to roll her eyes, but gathered the strength to resist.

Breakfast continued, and Anna ate in silence, casting occasional glances to her father and Dmitri. Bonfeuille was entirely ignored. However, nothing was said to anyone, so it wasn't entirely noticeable.

However, Francis picked up on it. And he noticed because his morning was spent staring at the young woman he was to marry. There was something of a fascination contained within his eyes. Anna was strange. And she was beautiful. And cruel. Which made her even more interesting.

Oh, this would be fun.

After they ate their meals, Francis followed Anna from the room.

"I was told I had to spend time with you today."

"You don't have to do anything, Miss Ivanovna. You're an adult."

"The only people who would say that are the ones who know absolutely nothing about me, or my mother for that matter. The fact is you do what Natasha says you do."

"Well, you're rebellious."

"Yes."

"Why don't you simply refuse her?"

"Don't you think I've tried to do so? Tell me, is it easier to be beaten every day or to simply do as she wants and move on?" They were moving towards Anna's room.

"She must get tired of giving out beatings so often."

They entered through the porthole.

"It's not about how tired _she_ gets." Anna began to unbutton her shirt. "Natasha doesn't tire easily anyway." The cottons slipped from her shoulders.

"Miss Ivanovna, what are you doing?"

"I'm showing you something." Her back became nude, and was given to Francis.

Immediate disgust stirred within his blood, and those curious French hands traced over her flesh.

There were numerous scars lining the woman's hide. Thick ones, thin ones. Some were even somewhat shiny, and far whiter than the rest of tone. It was like staring at a beautiful painting ruined by a fire. Someone had rescued it before the entire thing burned, but much of it was still scorched and tarnished.

Francis allowed his fingers to those welds, each one ugly and strangely appealing at the same time.

"Did she whip you, Anna?"

"With a belt." The garment was pulled back on, and a sad memory came floating back into the forefront of the beaten princess' mind.

She must have been about twelve, perhaps thirteen. And her father had been away on business. Something wrong had been done, and it was her fault. It was always _her_ fault.

Natasha had beaten her terribly with Ivan's belt. The greatest one had been selected. Black leather with a bright silver buckle, smooth and classy.

Anna attempted to stop it with her little hand, and the mother only hit her harder.

And as she bit her lip, trying to murder the cries that were exiting her mouth, Natasha grabbed her by the elbow and threw her out, into the cold. There was no snow upon the ground yet. The winter was only just beginning. But that did not take the sting from the air, and it did not make the temperature increase. It was freezing, and the poor child was only wearing a thin night gown.

Then, the doors were locked. All of them.

And Anna was left there until three o' clock in the morning, until one of her brothers opened the door and allowed her inside.

Yes. That was why she did not fight back.

The punishment only becomes worse.

"Never touch my scars again. I hate that."

"Yes, Miss Ivanovna. I'm sorry."

Anna cast the man a hard sort of stare, as though to say, 'you don't know what sorry is. You've never been in my position.

'You don't understand.'

"What are we doing today, Bonfeuille?"

"Whatever you please. I'm absolutely fine with anything."

"Well, I'm taking a walk. You're welcome to come along."

So Francis and Anna went outside together. Neither really spoke. The woman had nothing to say and the man couldn't think of a single suitable word. It was difficult to formulate sentences, after seeing such a ruined piece of art. Natasha had taken something beautiful and blown it to pieces.

It bothered him greatly.

Anna's usual coldness did not even have an effect upon him. At least, he could understand _why_.

Francis Bonfeuille wished to save this girl-this rose, from her ludicrous gardener. Natasha would likely tear away all those petals if she had the chance, sputtering nonsense of growth as she went on.

They returned home and the entire estate was silent.

The Russian princess returned to her painting.

Francis, to his thoughts.


	15. Chapter 15

About a week passed, and a carriage arrived outside the Braginski household. A man and a woman emerged-the woman small with long black hair and a large man with happy blond about his brow, sharp blue eyes and a joyous expression.

They chattered in German, speaking sweetly to one another. The woman was touching her darling's hand, wearing a smile upon those beautiful lips.

"Oh, Andrei. I'm so nervous. Do you think they'll like me?"

"Of course they'll like you, Ellis. You're an utter sweetheart. Just be yourself."

"And they speak French-don't they? We both know my Russian is awful and they don't speak German."

"_Yes_, love. They speak French. You have nothing to worry about."

"Oh-But I'm not too short, am I?"

Andrei laughed at his fiancé.

"Stop laughing! I'm serious! You told me everyone in your family was tall…"

"Well, if you're convinced you're too short, I'll find you a pair of tall shoes and you'll fit right in. And everyone will love you."

"Alright." Ellis allowed those cherry lips to her lover's neck-the only place she could reach, and the door opened before them.

Neither was greeted with any great joy. Actually, the home was relatively silent. But there wasn't much surprise. No shock to that cool opening. They were early, for one thing, and this was Andrei's family, after all. News did not spread well about the house, and plans crumbled to pieces in ease.

No one knew they were there, aside from the few servants who were present by the door at that time. They were ordered to fetch the bags and suitcases while the visitors moved further into the palace.

For a moment, Ellis had dropped her worries to admire Andrei's home. It was just as lovely as her own, but different. This place was the Russian version of that palace in Vienna. It had all the decoration and glamour, but the flavor was so strange, the foreigner had quite a time wrapping he mind around it.

Finally, the pair reached the father's office.

Ivan looked up from his work and wore immediate excitement at the two who had walked through his threshold.

He stood up quickly. "Oh you're both here!"

Ellis understood where her dear Andrei received his height. The man was a giant! Not only was Ivan incredibly tall, but quite stocky as well. He could easily fill an entire room and make everyone inside it feel miniature.

The son was given an embrace first, as Ivan had missed his eldest child, and then the tiny Austrian's hands were stolen, sinking with the father's ridiculous grasp. Ivan's palms covered Ellis' entirely, fitting like loose gloves.

"It's so nice to meet you." The words came in Russian-accented French. "We've all been incredibly excited for your wedding." The man let go of Ellis and regarded his son. "Shall we go and introduce you both as a couple? I'm sure your mother would love to meet your fiancé."

"Yes, of course." Andrei grinned at his father, never seeing him quite so ecstatic."I think my lovely bride needs some showing off."

The guest's sweet cheeks became dark as plum wine. Her heart fluttered within her chest, between the nervousness and charm and raw amazement. It was plain sensory overload.

But they went on, meeting Natasha, and Dmitri, and finally Anna, who was inside her room as always and painting yet another portrait. Her mind was focused and her brush was dancing gracefully upon the canvas; color spread and beauty became tangible. The viewer could see this strange little world through the artist's eyes.

Anna had been painting this way ever since she met Alfred. Her world was brighter and all those pieces had become somewhat happier.

This time, she was creating a woman wearing a gorgeous lace dress at sunset. The pigments bounced from her pearly gown and gave her the appearance of a burning star.

Then, the door opened.

Anna actually managed to glance upward.

She usually would have been upset. Usually. Because her session was interrupted. But the shock was too much.

There was Andrei, with his lovely Austrian standing there as the king and queen of all things wonderful.

Much of this attention was hooked to Ellis.

She was beautiful-gorgeous even. With those flowing locks of ebony and supple red lips. With her slender waist and dollish and kind expression. With her bright spectacles. With her simple presence.

One could tell she was an angel by glancing at her.

Ellis was perfect.

It made Anna both angry and somewhat infatuated at the same moment- infatuated as an artist would be. There was a great need to paint that imported porcelain figurine. To recreate all of those stunning features upon that naked white surface and then destroy the model afterward.

She was too damn special.

"Anna, this is Ellis." Her brother spoke in French.

"I know who that is, Andrei." Those mad blue eyes prodded into the little woman's emeralds. "I want to paint you."

Shock. "Oh, truly? That would be wonderful."

The youngest sibling did not speak.

"Stop being so rude. Why can't you welcome my fiancé properly?"

"Andrei, it's-"

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize people I hardly know deserve respect from me. She seems like a perfectly fine woman. Is that what you wished to hear?"

"No! _Welcome her properly!_" Andrei broke into Russian.

Then the brother and sister stared at one another. More Slavic.

"You're already going to apologize for me. 'Oh, Ellis. I'm so sorry my younger sister is such a freak. They never taught her manners.' But fine. I'll give you what you want." Anna gave her focus back to Ellis. "It's nice to meet you. I hope you enjoy staying here. You both make a lovely couple."

Ivan wore a sigh.

And Andrei wore upset.

"Thank you, Anna. It's nice to meet you as well." Lips shifted awkwardly. "When do you want to paint me?"

"You can come back here tomorrow at noon."

A nod, and that party left the artist to her work.

And that covered all of the introductions.

Ellis walked away not knowing what to think.


	16. Chapter 16

That morning, the table was full again. There were no empty places where brothers should have sat. Another had even joined that unhappy circle. Ellis was placed next to her fiancé, who was holding her hand beneath the table and occasionally leaned over to press his lips to her cheek.

Natasha looked pleased.

Anna merely cringed at the entirety of this display.

She hated to see people in love. It always seemed so false. If they were _truly _in love, why would there be a need to make a show of it? Kissing before the gaze of everyone and smiling to one another. The entire world did not matter, just some woman or man they had found.

They did not _know_ one another. All they knew were pleasant facades-put on like masked plays.

Ellis was not informed of the dysfunction. That Austrian sweetheart was not told of the beatings, of the scars, or the misery that mashed all their bones to dust. No. If that fact was given light, Ellis would be far more reluctant.

Anna felt angry.

Hey eyes hooked themselves to the shined table top. The color of that wood seemed to quell her rage, somehow.

It made her wish to paint.

"Everyone, Andrei and I have something we wish to discuss."

The attention all came to the couple.

"Yes, well. We were thinking we could hold the wedding here. Roderich and Elizaveta told me that they wouldn't mind coming-that they could actually use a pleasant vacation to a more exotic place. Not to mention, our family is quite a bit larger. So going all the way back to Vienna-"

"Of course you can have the wedding here, Andrei." Natasha touched her son's knuckles. "That would be wonderful. Ellis have you ever attended a Russian wedding?"

"No, but I've heard they're quite fun."

"Yes." Those old lips stretched. "Believe me; you'll have the time of your life."

That tiny Austrian nodded. She still seemed somewhat overwhelmed. Oh, and she had tried _so_ hard to appear pleasing for breakfast. Her hair, as long and gorgeous as it was-must have been a terrible task to style. It was curled and bound up inside a neat bun, and a clip had been pinned just near her ear-it held the shape of a rose. Cheeks had been pinched, lips made rouge. Her porcelain flesh was bathed in flowery perfume.

Compared to everyone else, Ellis was far too beautiful. Her husband had merely managed to toss on clothing, brush through that light blond mess and pick the sleep from the corner of those sharp sapphires.

It was a slap in the mouth.

The rest of the family continued to speak, going on about all the wondrous details that could occur for the event, and Anna-hearing all she could-traveled to her bedroom.

The old portrait was finished. Another canvas was selected and placed upon the easel. The paints were prepared. Cigarettes were smoked. The owner regarded her domain.

Honestly, sometimes her chamber looked more like a storage room than anything else. A plain bed sat against the wall furthest from the door; there were no night stands. Merely a wardrobe stuffed into the corner. The rest of the space was occupied by former masterpieces, hanging upon the wall on one side, and new canvases resting upon the other.

In the center of it all was Anna's chair, where her subjects would sit. If she had a subject. There was also the workshop, sitting in the middle of the calamity. A small table with all her cigarette butts and a place to rest the pigments, clean water, and brushes.

Ellis arrived at noon, as she had promised.

"Anna?"

"Come in."

The dollish princess entered, a subtle smile contained against her plump mounds. She was dressed nicely-a complex French gown dyed blue. Her entire appearance was that of a woman who was desperate to be made into art work.

"You can stand wherever you like. Or sit. Either is fine."

The guest took a place at the edge of Anna's mattress.

The pencil was removed from the stand.

Those cold cerulean eyes pinned themselves to the mannequin's face, her figure. Her gown.

An oval shaped head made itself evident upon the paper.

"So, Ellis. How do you feel about this entire thing?"

"Do you mean getting married?"

"Yes."

"Well…It's a lot. I'm excited and a little terrified." She attempted to remain still, but was the type who enjoyed ringing her hands, picking at her lips, and pulling at her skirts. "It's such a life changing event, but everyone seems to be happy. My parents like Andrei. My mother _adores_ him." Her gaze came to those knees.

"Don't move, please."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Anyway…It's simply a lot to take in. And now I'm in Russia, speaking French."

"That's what happens when you marry Russians."

Ellis grinned. "Well, how about you? No one told me if you were married or not."

"I'm not, nor do I want to be. But I have yet another fiancé."

"'Yet another'?"

"Yes. I tend to drive them away. Mostly on purpose. Sometimes, they're so disgusted by my strangeness they run away on their own. I prefer those. It's less work for me."

"Why don't you want to be married?"

"No one can be an artist _and_ a wife. I don't need a man to make me into a slave. I don't want children. I don't want to clean up after them, and I don't want to listen to their father. It doesn't seem worth it to me; especially considering whoever would be my husband would go severely unloved. I've never fallen head-over-heels for anyone. I'm beginning to think I never will."

Ellis wore a sad expression.

"Well, I hope you can meet a man who will love you enough to let you be an artist, and that you love as well. But you're right. I couldn't be any man's wife but Andrei's."

"You two love one another."

"Yes. I adore him. He's really very sweet."

"Well, you'll be good for him." Pencil strokes. "I think when Andrei and Dmitri were born, Andrei stole all of Dmitri's insanity and Dmitri stole all of Andrei's discipline. They've been polar opposites forever."

Ellis looked a bit lost. Anna caught it.

"Andrei was far wilder when we were growing up. He would climb trees, scrape his knees and elbows, run into streets, take walks to the candy store by himself. Speak to strangers. You know-I'm certain you've noticed it in him. He doesn't like to be in one place for a long time. Dmitri-on the other hand- stayed at home, outside or inside and wrote and wrote and wrote. To tell them apart-Dmitri is the one who constantly carries around a notebook."

"Oh." Those brows dropped. "I didn't think they would look so similar. When Andrei told me he had a twin brother, I didn't believe him. But I can't tell them apart at all, and I'm going to marry one."

"Have them label themselves."

Ellis laughed, trying to stifle her mirth to prevent moving.

The pair faded into silence.

"What about you, Anna? What do you like to do?"

"I paint and make candy. That's it."

"Oh. What kind of candy do you make?"

"Lemon drops. Sometimes, I change the flavor a bit. Orange-Raspberry. But usually lemon."

"Is lemon your favorite?"

"Yes it is."

"I like peppermint…Do you like to make anything else?"

"Cake-but only sometimes."

"I love cake. My mother and I would make cakes for our father and bring slices into his office. He spent so much time working…"

A slight pain crept into Anna's heart. A pang of jealousy. How lucky this woman was, owning a mother who loved he- who earnestly gave a damn. Ellis had probably never been beaten, never had her back scarred or her hair tugged away by the roots. She had probably never had to deal with harsh favoritism or cold stares from the woman who had given birth to her.

Ellis' father likely never had to play a safety net, only keeping her slight steps from the label of sociopath.

Perhaps her mother even held her and gave her darling little kisses. Gave her candy instead of tearing it from those tiny hands.

A heat wave of hatred.

"What are their names again?"

"My parents? Roderich and Elizaveta. My mother is actually Hungarian. It was a little easier that way, convincing them to let me marry a Russian."

"Hmm." They must have been beautiful. _Roderich and Elizaveta_. Two gorgeous people who truly loved one another. She could picture them. A handsome Austrian man and a lovely Hungarian woman, who gave her daughter those powerful emerald eyes.

"My parents want me to marry a Frenchman."

"Is he handsome?"

"Most people would think so. I'm certain I'm not the only woman he's seeing. Bonfeuille…I can't remember his first name."

_François?_

No. That wasn't right.

"What does he looked like?"

"Blond hair, blue eyes. Facial hair around his chin. French. He's pretty goddamn French looking…I've had more attractive suitors, but he's not bad."

"I'm curious now, as to what he looks like." A friendly sort of curl. "How many fiancés have you had?"

"Eight."

That sweet Austrian face wore surprise."That's impressive."

"Thank you."

And their session went on. The model was sketched out in her entirety, while Anna smoked, and shared small words. It took longer. Ellis, much like Alfred, wore a rare visage. Her incredible kindness was difficult to master. The light within her windows was so bright.

One cannot draw a pleasant aura.

Ellis had such generosity. Such sweetness.

She was an angel, and Anna immediately loved and hated her; the woman was too perfect.

The portrait ate up the canvas. It simply needed color.

"Ellis, come look."

The subject sprang from the mattress and came to Anna's side, joy booming within her chest as loud as fireworks into a dark night. She loved it. Words could not describe how much she loved it. That was why Ellis did not speak.

"Thank you, Anna. It's wonderful."

"Of course. It had to be done."


	17. Chapter 17

Anna met Alfred outside, as he tended to the horses.

"Take me somewhere, Alfie."

The American regarded his companion, who was smoking a cigarette and looked somewhat distraught. But she hid it. There likely wasn't much desire to speak of it. Whatever it was.

"Where do you want to go, Anna?"

"Well…" Dented brows. "I don't really care. Wherever you want."

The man smiled to his princess, in a strange attempt to make her feel better. "You're upset about something, but I'm not going to bother you about it."

"Why not?"

"Because, if you want to speak about it, then you will." Alfred walked nearer to Anna, giving her a quick peck upon the cheek. A gentle one. "So, do you wish to speak of it?"

"Maybe. I'm not even certain of how to put it into words." Anna lit a cigarette and began to smoke.

"Well, hop on. We'll go somewhere."

So Anna sat within the driver's chair, at Alfred's side, and the pair moved forward-into the streets, past all of those glamorous mansions in the area. The entire time, Anna's palm secured itself to the fabric of Alfred's trousers, clutched just before the knee. Nothing was said of it.

"Are you alright, Anna?"

"No. Tomorrow we're going to have a party to welcome Ellis and Andrei back…I'll have to have my hair done and wear a dress. Not to mention, I'm not the least bit excited." Anna paused. And she thought.

It had been a week since her brother had returned home with that angelic wife of his. The level of happiness had made her uncomfortable. Never had her home been so blissful, so flustering and golden.

This was the sort of feeling that home had when something was to go terribly wrong.

"I'm sure I'm going to hear quite a bit of, 'oh Anna, when is it going to be _your_ turn?' They'll call me old and they'll whisper about all my strange habits and all the fiancés I've driven away.

Pause.

"How is it their business? Why does anyone care about what _I_ do? I'm not important. I'm not anything more than the daughter of a rich man. I don't mean to draw attention to myself. Actually, it would be better if I was left alone." A frustrated sigh and a fit of coughing, because the smoke had not been expelled properly. "I suppose spreading rumors are too easy and far too much fun. Some people are even convinced I have a penis."

"Truly?"

"Yes."

The conversation fell into silence.

"And I'm certain I wouldn't mind so much, but my sister-in-law…"

"Ellis."

"Yes, Ellis. She's almost perfect. I can't find a goddamn thing wrong with her. She's kind. Lovely. She's the image of all the things a woman should be, while I'm everything a woman _shouldn't_ be."

"They're going to compare you."

The young woman said nothing.

"Well, it's an evening. A few hours, even." Alfred glanced to Anna, then back to the road. "You won't have to deal with the guests for too long, and I'm sure something can be figured out. Perhaps a few quick hellos could be given out while you stick to someone you actually enjoy. Do you like either one of your brothers- maybe your father?"

"I do like my father."

"Well, that doesn't seem like a bad idea-to remain near to him. Maybe you can even get to know Ellis. I'm sure there's something wrong with her, and you can find it! You've just got to put some effort into it!"

Anna grinned, but only slightly. "My fiancé is going to be there as well."

"You have a fiancé?"

"Yes, but hopefully not for long. I'll get rid of him. They always go." A drag against that roll before it was tossed into the street. "Does that bother you, Alfred?"

"Yes; we've been kissing one another."

"I'm sorry. If it's any conciliation, I didn't want things to be this way. But my parents have forced another man onto me. I'm sure you know the daughters aren't given much choice in the matter. But even if I had a thousand different fiancés to choose from, _I'd still like you._"

Alfred merely regarded the woman.

"Listen to me, won't you? You're my only goddamn friend! If I had my choice, _you'd_ be my fiancé. You don't stand there and judge me like everyone else does. You listen to me. And you treat me like a human being, not some strange object you just happened across. I know you're not speaking of me behind my back."

Everything Anna was saying slowly sunk in.

"Would you like to know something, Alfred? You're the most attractive man I've seen in my life. You're beautiful. And if you give me more time, I'll grow to love you. So don't be upset with me."

Alfred was certain that Anna was the only person who could make such a compliment sounds like an argument. And strangely, her passion and her rage only made those words even heavier. She meant them. Every single one.

A sigh.

"How am I supposed to be upset with you?" Alfred was still paying attention to their direction. "I'm sorry you parents want you to marry someone you don't like."

"It's alright."

There was a slight stop. Before more came. "I just want you to know, you're quite lovely yourself. You won't believe me, but you're lovely."

"You're right. I don't believe you. But thank you. It's nice to hear every once in a while."

Soon after that, Anna and Alfred drove home. And that Russian princess did not hesitate in pressing their lips together. She captured the edges of his visage and allowed their tongues to intertwine.

Alfred even pulled her in nearer, those gloved hands sticking to her shoulder blades. And he kissed her passionately-with all the love she had ruthlessly injected into his core.

Anna _was_ beautiful. Alfred wanted her to feel it.

They were nearly biting one another.

Then, lips met softly together. And it was over.

"Good-bye, Alfie. Thank you. I feel better now."

"Of course."

After that, separate ways were made.


	18. Chapter 18

Anna stared at herself within the bathroom mirror, those long blond locks secured about her scalp on gorgeous diamond pins, holding those light and beautiful curls in place.

She hated them.

The entire mess made her angry. Just an ugly unnatural cluster fuck sitting upon her brow.

In her left hand was a cigarette.

In her right hand was a pair of scissors.

Anna thought about how the hair dresser had ripped at her follicles. It reminded her of her mother. Tearing out pieces and placing them elsewhere. Then layering the whole damn thing in diamonds and pearls.

The bobby pins were removed. Violence tearing them away just as it had placed them in.

There had to be at least twenty.

They laced the area near the sink.

Her tresses fell around her face, creating a gorgeous frame of light gold. Sweetly, they kissed her collarbone, tickling that slender neck and singing subtly within her ears.

The brutal silver blades chopped away the chains.

Snip.

Snip.

Snip.

Snip.

Blond straw falling in a flurry, crashing into the pins they had been so acquainted with. And the sink. And the floor. It was snowing.

As Anna ridded herself of those horrendously lovely curls, she nearly glared into her face. They had shoved color onto that as well. The woman in the mirror was not her. Because the woman in the mirror held an element of pulchritude. The woman in the mirror was soft, with plump lips dyed and eyes outlined in a shimmering purple. With liner and elongated lashes.

This woman was not Anna.

This woman was Sonya. Or Lilya. Or Natalia. But not Anna Ivanovna. Anna Ivanovna had a harsh face. Anna Ivanovna had long, ugly hair. Anna Ivanovna's eyes were not so handsome.

The princess felt upset again.

And now her hair was missing to the nape of her neck.

The mess was cleaned, and the artist returned to her room. Where she would remain until the evening. The painting of Ellis would be finished; it was so incredibly close.

When the time came, the short haired mannequin emerged from her room, wearing a fine crimson dress. Ellis was the very first to catch her, having come to collect her newest sister.

They stared at one another.

"Anna, you look lovely. But where did the rest of your hair go?"

"I cut it off. I never want it to be styled again."

The Austrian woman had a look of discontent. It simply did not register within her mind. Of course it didn't. Her hair was so long and intriguing, cutting it away would be a crime against beauty itself. And if one was to see it now- a complex and happy tangle of dark black curls with gems glistening inside it. Stars sitting against a night's sky.

It all complemented her dollish face and light blue gown, which happened to be even more French than Anna's.

No. Ellis could not grasp it-any of it. Dressing in trousers and suspenders. Chopping away hair and refusing rouge.

Anna was an alien to her.

She could see it beneath those glistening spectacles.

"Did Andrei apologize for me yet?"

"No…You don't need an apology." Those feet adjusted themselves, heels clacking upon the marble floor. "Well, shall we go?"

The immigrant muse was given only a nod.

When Anna and Ellis arrived into the main ballroom-where the celebration was being held-the pair received quite a few decent stares. Ellis collected them due to her heavenly appearance, while Anna received the more questionable glances.

All of those eyes said, where are her curls? With her hair that way, she looks like a young gentleman-not even a lady. And look at her chest. Flat as a bed spread.

She walked into the room, leaving her sister-in-law behind.

The awkward hellos were given. The handshakes, and the, 'oh, I haven't seen you in _years!_' on a few occasions. They asked her questions. She answered them. And before dinner began, she wedged herself in a corner, so no one would throw words at her any longer.

It felt as though she had walked through a forest of thorns and poison ivy, fighting each of those inquiries with gloved hands that were quickly becoming tattered when a machete would have done far better.

But then the Frenchman found her.

Unfortunately for him, she was holding a wine glass. Still full.

"_Bonsoir, Mademoiselle_."

Go for it. Spill that red wine all over his pearly white outfit. Aim for the bottoms. You never miss that way.

"Hello, Francis."

Do it.

"Your hair is gone."

"No shit."

"Well, I have to say, it's really beautiful. Did you cut it that way?"

"Yes, I did."

Oh, _come on Anna!_ He's standing right in front of you!

One of those curious French hands touched the side of her face. "Where is my little shrew? You seem so off tonight."

_Oh. _He _asked_ for it.

And suddenly, the contents of Anna's glass were soaking Monsieur Bonfeuille's lovely blouse.

"No. I'm fine. Oh…Did I spill that? My apologies." The empty chalice was regarded. "Darling, would you mind doing me a favor? Can you get me another? I'm not drunk enough for you to be attractive yet."

Francis looked upset. But he gave an affirmative nod of the head. "Certainly. Give me a moment."

So Anna waited for her fiancé to leave, and when he did, she was moving from her corner and back into the crowd.

Minutes later, dinner commenced, and the Frenchman took a spot directly next to her, wearing another top. This one was a deep purple-something royal and rich and lovely.

"Francis, you changed your outfit." The mother spoke up above all of the relatives.

"Oh, yes Madame. I accidentally spilled a glass of red wine all over myself."

"Did you, now?"

"Yes. I was being quite foolish and speaking with my hands. I had completely forgotten I had a glass between my fingers."

"I see." Natasha glared at her daughter. Her daughter in her off gown, with her missing gold and strange face. "Anna, what in the hell happened to your hair?"

"I cut it off."

"Well, we're going to have a talk about this." There was an unpleasant grin strewn about Natasha's mouth. "After dinner."

"Of course, mother. All of our lovely guests might have a bad opinion of you if they saw you give out a beating to one of your children. Rumors might even get out that you were a monster."

Natasha stood up, but Ivan caught her shoulder.

"Our daughter actually had a _point_."

"_Your daughter_. If it were up to me, this she-devil would have nothing to do with my good name." The volume of the hiss was increased. "Come child, we'll speak now."

The entire chamber was deathly quiet. No one was speaking, or even _chewing_ for that matter. All the gazes glued themselves to the two women at the end of the table, sitting nearest to Ivan.

They cringed as the daughter's wrist was clutched. They could hear Natasha' grip tightening around her flesh- a mad dog's teeth rendering hide.

And they left the room together.

In a flash of corridors of paintings, Anna and Natasha moved nearer to the outside. They made one stop, and that was inside the woman's bedroom. That favored belt was dragged out from Ivan's wardrobe. A glorious black leather belt-the same belt that was used to beat the girl numerous times in the past, and likely numerous times in the future.

Then, Anna felt herself being thrust into the grass, shoes causing her to trip onto her knees.

Oh yes, the worst was yet to come.

This was the point when Anna could feel the horrendous black creature coiling inside he mother's raging palm. The silver buckle hissed as a cobra ready to strike. But that was all Anna could hear over the heart beat boiling within her eardrums. It was like the cackle of a fire or the thunder of a volcano. Something harsh and terrifying and all together cruel.

"You didn't even ask my permission, you little rat!" The silver whipped into her pliable white back, through the thin cover of that tacky gown. "You think you can simply run around, doing as you please?" An even rougher smack.

Anna's elbows collapsed into the grass.

Her chest was heaving and her eyes were hot. It was certain that her colors would run; rouge mixing with broken shadow, all beneath a river of watery black.

Teeth clamped down upon her bottom lip.

Another lash.

Anna refused to cry out for Natasha. That would be giving her precisely what she wanted. A gift wrapped in blissful paper, dropped right into her sickly hands.

Whip.

The tears made her lashes stick together.

Six more harsh cracks against her flesh, and the session was interrupted.

"Natasha, for the love of God; _stop!_"

Anna glanced back through watery vision to see her father clutching the arm of his wife, keeping his belt from the girl's already tarnished back.

"Have you no shame? There's an entire house full of people-just beyond those doors! It's _hair!_ Anna is old enough to decide on that much!"

"She insulted me!"

"You don't need her to insult you, Natasha! You do a fine enough job making an ass of _yourself!_"

Anna attempted to rise, and Natasha gave determination to break free; to whip the girl once more. But before any action could be taken against the artist, Ivan gave his wife a steady back-handed slap right to the mouth, knocking her into the same earth Anna had just risen from.

Then, the father placed his arms around his daughter and snuck the poor thing inside, quickly. Past all the guests and the relatives. Even past the servants. And she tried so goddamn hard no tot cry. Anna choked back sobs larger than she was.

They came to her room shortly after that.

It was then all the pain was released, slender arms taking in the enormous form of the father while crystalline agony seeped into the man's collar.

Two shirts Anna had ruined in one evening.

"Why do you provoke her?"

The distraught creature attempted to calm herself. But it was ineffective. Words still would not come. She merely looked into her father's face, her eyes never more poignant.

"You always get yourself in trouble."

"I know." Gasp. As though she was drowning. "I'm sorry, Papa."

"It's alright…Just _please_. Try to get along with her." The rivers of make-up were swept away with the man's thumb. Anna was given a kiss to the brow. "I love you. And I'm going to get you some help."

With that Anna was left alone, until the maids came to wash the blood from her back and wrap her up in bandages.

The wounds weren't as severe as they usually were. Probably because Ivan had stopped his wife while she was only half way through.

Anna went to sleep shortly after her cast was set.


	19. Chapter 19

Anna awoke next to Francis. He was sitting at the edge of her mattress, regarding her back, with all its gauze and light pink stains.

It was midnight. At least around that time.

Those burned out gazes ate the Frenchman alive.

"I was going to pour a bottle of wine on you. To get you back. But I think I can manage to forgive you, Anna."

The woman sucked in a breath, through pained lips. "I'm sorry about your blouse, Francis. I almost didn't want to do it. But you asked for it." That long body sat up, wearing nothing put a pair of trousers. Covering that chest wasn't bothered with. "It's nothing personal. I just need to get rid of you."

"How is that not personal?"

"If we were only friends, I wouldn't have to pour wine on you. But you want to marry me. You've crossed the line. And now I have to step on your feet." A second acquired to suck in the pain. "It's not even that I like conflict. I'd be happier keeping to myself."

Francis looked directly into his fiancé's eyes. "You're not going to get rid of me. I love you."

"Shut your mouth. That's a goddamn lie."

"Well, if it's not love, it's an incredible attraction. I like your strength…You knew you were going to get hurt, didn't you?"

"I was half certain. But if I don't do as I please, my mother wins. I'd lose my heart-conforming to her rules. I wouldn't be Anna anymore; I can't let that happen. I'd rather fight a war forever than lose even one."

That proud, brave, radical thing looked as though she could cry.

Oh. So she _was_ human.

It broke the Frenchman's heart.

"Listen, you're not so bad. I just don't want to get married."

"Well, why not?"

"I don't love you. I'm not about to change everything for a man I don't love."

"Well, I'll make you love me."

"You can't."

"_Why not?_"

"Because, Francis. You're _French_."

"Well, what do you want me to be? Spanish? Italian? _Russian?_ What will it take?"

"There's nothing you can do."

"There must be _something_. You're not calling me Bonfeuille anymore."

"That's only because I've ruined your blouse and I feel guilty."

"You must like me to a degree then."

"_Like_ is not _Love_. And you're still French."

"I can't _not_ be French."

Anna lied back down, this time easing onto her back. It still hurt. But she couldn't sleep on her stomach.

And Francis joined her, coming quite near, as though they were truly a married couple. "I'm going to make you love me. I swear it to you, Anna Ivanovna." He kissed her ear gently, then her cheek.

Then, arms wrapped carefully around that tattered mannequin, and the man settled in. His slight facial hair caused Anna's shoulder to itch.

He kissed her there too.

And for some reason, she allowed it. No desire shot through the painter's blood to move nearer, and no desire came to move away. It was neutral-this feeling inside her stomach. No longer one of bitter agony, but of utter neutrality.

She took note of the Frenchman's softness, and the fact that he wasn't reaching for her bare chest. He held her as a man who was in love.

But she still couldn't take him seriously.

The marred princess fell asleep, shortly after relaxing into Bonfeuille's hold. It was obvious he would not leave.


	20. Chapter 20

Anna came outside, a small basket of sandwiches inside her hands, and found her darling driver boy once more. They did not say anything to one another; the woman merely embraced Alfred and kissed his cheek.

"Hello, Anna."

"Hell, Alfie." They disconnected and Anna took the man's hand, guiding him away from the horses, as well as the carriage, and into a small grass field near the home.

They sat down, the basket placed between them.

It was odd what happened to Anna after being whipped. Some of her rage went away, as well as her cruelty. She tended to curl into herself. The voice she usually had faded away.

And the beaten daughter wished to be near Alfred. Not anyone else. No Andrei. No Dmitri. No Ellis. No Francis. No one; only Alfred.

She took his hand.

"If you're wondering what's the matter with me, my mother beat me for cutting my hair."

The man paused a moment before saying anything, in an odd mix of shock and concern. "I'm sorry, Anna. If it means anything, I like your hair. It fits you, really. How are you feeling?"

"I'm not quite sure."

Alfred's mouth twisted. "Well, you made sandwiches."

"I did make sandwiches." They regarded one another. "I want you to have one. At least one."

Alfred gave his counterpart a look of pity, and took that visage in between his worn hands, allowing those lips to hers. "Thank you."

Poor Anna even looked somewhat miserable, but at the same time, there was even a hint of happiness within her gaze. A true affection for Alfred had taken root within the young woman's chest. It was growing as a tall and happy sunflower.

This was the very first time Alfred had seen his princess show her softer side. Anna seemed so warm. No longer the cold and beautiful ice sculpture.

Anna was weak.

And it made Alfred upset.

He took a bite of one of those sandwiches. "It's very good. Thank you."

"Of course. I feel like I owe you anyway."

"Well, what makes you say that?"

"You're kind to me. And that's rare. I suppose." Those lips warped a bit in their uncertainty. "I can't say it's not my fault. But it's still nice."

There was a pause, and the American took another mouthful.

"I didn't lie when I said you were my only friend…You're very special."

"Anna, why do you say these things? I feel like I haven't earned them. I'm certainly not complaining; it's simply difficult to understand."

The woman kissed her opposite's cheek. "You don't judge me. And you're handsome. I can't think of a damn thing wrong with you."

"Well, sometimes I dress horribly."

"I would be angry with you if you dressed well all the time."

"Sometimes I smell badly."

"You're a real man."

"Sometimes I'm mean."

"Everyone is. You're human."

"I eat too much."

"I cook in enormous portions."

"I think about you too much."

"I think about you more."

Alfred took another sandwich, having finished the first, and bit away the crust. "These are very good, Annushka."

"Do you really like them?"

An affirmative nod.

The creator of those delicacies stole one for herself. And for a few long minutes, the pair ate in silence, hands clasped together. Thought filled either of their minds, as rich syrup filling a bowl. Each was slow and sweet.

It kept the woman from bitterness.

It kept her from Natasha. From her crooked family. It kept her from Ellis, who was perfect, but could not swallow her strangeness. The Austrian choked upon Anna; as though she was a cigarette to her virgin lungs.

Speaking of which, the slender thing lit up.

She smoked and ate at the same time.

"Alfred, what are you doing here?"

"In Russia?"

"Да. In Russia."

"I'm not certain I can answer that…I suppose I wanted to live somewhere new. To get my elder brother out of my hair for a while." Bite. "Russia, because I learned Russian in college. French too, but well…"

Anna laughed, but only slightly. "Maybe that's why I like you so well. You're not _fucking French_."

Alfred snickered. "Anna, where did you learn such horrible language?"

"What? Rich girls can't pick up naughty words?"

"Well, they obviously can."

Little grins.

It seemed Miss Ivanovna was returning to normal, as least somewhat.

"Alfred, what the hell am I supposed to do? I have to get rid of that frog."

"Your fiancé?"

"Yes…I spilled wine on him last night. But he still wouldn't go away. I think I just made him like me more."

Alfred stole yet another sandwich. "You could kill him."

"I've considered it."

Pause. "I'm not certain, Anna. You know the situation better than I do. But it wouldn't be a bad idea to learn his pet peeves and press his buttons. Annoying someone to death is just as bad as torture."

"That's not a bad idea." Anna' mouth twisted. "He told me he was going to make me love him." A laugh. "You should have heard his stupid accent."

Alfred paused for a moment. "I'm sure you'll get rid of him, Anna. You've done this numerous times before, haven't you? It's hard to beat experience. You can't give up hope just because your parents have sent you a stubborn fiancé! You'll do fine. I believe in you."

The Russian princess even smiled. "You're right, Alfred. I only need to try harder."

"See? You'll do it." Smooch. "I know you will." Alfred, at that point, rose. "I have to get back to work, but you can come back with me if you like. It wouldn't look good if someone wanted to go into town and I was missing."

"Well," Anna rose as well. "I like horses anyway."

So the pair went back, and the daughter remained with the servant for well over an hour, simply speaking and enjoying the rest of that basket.

Before the woman left, she gave her darling an embrace, as well as a press against the cheek bone. Then she disappeared, as it was time to create art.

That day was quite fine, regardless of what happened the night preceding it.


	21. Chapter 21

The days passed. Natasha's face stopped swelling and Anna stopped laughing at her. And Francis Bonfeuille returned, bearing a gift wrapped up in pink paper. It was set at the end of Anna's bed, along with the Frenchman himself.

"_Bonjour_, Anna."

"Stop being French, Bonfeuille." The woman was painting and smoking. "What is that?"

"It's a gift. _Un cadeau_." A smirk.

"What the hell did I just say to you? '_Un cadeau__?_' I should smack you." Drag. "Do you want me to open it? What is it anyway?"

"If I wanted you to know what it is, I wouldn't have wrapped it."

Anna ignored the man entirely. "You can't buy me. If you want me to love you, you have to do better than that."

"I don't want to buy you. I want to make you happy."

"Then leave my room."

Pause. "It's so nice to see you're back to normal. Why don't you just come over here and open this gift?"

The paintbrush made a few more colorful spots, and Anna placed it upon her easel. Then, she sat next to Francis, who set the bright little package inside her lap.

It would be a lie to say that Anna was not impressed. At least impressed to a degree. The color pink certainly was not her favorite, but she did not mind it. It was neatly wrapped as well, with a happy bow sitting upon its clean brow.

Miss Ivanovna's long and slender fingers unwrapped the gift, ruthlessly, to find a fine box of black.

The top was removed.

And Anna sighed.

"Allow me to ask you something, Bonfeuille. Do I honestly look like a woman who would wear a dress?"

"You were wearing a lovely gown when you spilled wine on me."

"I was forced to wear that."

"Well, maybe one day, you'll be forced to wear this dress as well." A kiss pressed to that white-angry cheek. "There' something else in there as well."

"What would that be? Some sort of fragrant French monstrosity of a perfume? I'm not quite sure if I could handle that."

"No. Just look, Anna. It's beneath the gown."

So the large silk mess was pulled from the container, creating a pile of lacy pink at Anna's uninhabited side. Then, the bottom was regarded, a few very expensive and high-end paint brushes sitting there.

A part of that glacier heart managed to melt.

Anna remembered asking for new brushes a few weeks ago, but received none. Her mother told her that it was time she stopped painting and owned a husband, and her father assured her that her elder tools would be replaced. Of course, this promise was hallow- the innards of an old show box, tossed aside.

Francis saw this brief lapse of evil.

"Do you like them, Mademoiselle?"

"Yes, I suppose I do. Спасибо." The handles were taken and placed within the woman's brush holder, back at the canvas.

"I was hoping we could go for a little stroll in town today." A quiet before the words continued. "Perhaps we could go to the park."

"Are you certain you want to be seen with me in public? Won't that damage your precious reputation?"

"Well, you're going to be my wife soon enough. It isn't as though I can be your husband and _never_ be seen with you. That's simply ludicrous. Besides, who cares about reputations? It's difficult to focus on such a stupid thing when you've gone and fallen in love."

"You're not in love with me." Anna's cigarette was extinguished. "If you say that again, I'm going to be livid with you."

"But Miss Anna, I'm only telling you the truth."

"Really, now? So pray tell, _what_ do you _adore_ about me, if you're so madly in love?"

"Well, I love your attitude, and your short hair. I also love how manly you are."

"_Manly?_"

"Yes, _manly_. And despite being so masculine, you're quite lovely, and a very talented artist. The perseverance you possess is incredibly impressible. Not everyone can sit inside a room and paint all day and night, as though it's an occupation." Those horrendous French hands were crossed above the man's lap. "Yes, Anna. Believe it or not, you _do_ have nice qualities. As I said, I even find your shrew side to be unbearably attractive." A stupid goddamn grin. "So? What do you say? Shall we go?"

Anna sighed.

"That seems to be a yes. Come, Anna. Go fetch your carriage."

A minor-heart attack. "Why can't we simply walk?"

"It's too far."

The Russian princess was frozen. What was one to do? Her two worlds were about to touch-the same worlds that were never meant to come eye to eye.

Alfred was going to meet Francis.

Red and green mixing together to create shit brown.

They moved outside, to the carriage. To the American.

The entire time, Anna's chest came to a tumbling halt, while her heart accelerated into full drive. It was freezing and burning at once. Getting cut open and sewn up and still bleeding to death.

The forced pair stopped before the beautiful man with those glimmering spectacles.

Anna forced herself to speak. "Yes-can you take us to the park?"

Alfred stared at his almost lover with a kind if confusion, perhaps even a bit of heart break. "Yes, ma'am." A quick glance was shot to the fiancé.

He was handsome.

A delicate French face. Strong jaw line. Soft golden hair. Cool, knife sharp blue eyes. A nice build.

He was probably rich as hell too.

Suddenly, Alfred felt horrendously small in comparison. Like an ant to a beetle. The man's mere presence filled his veins with hate.

But Alfred did his job. He drove Anna and her goddamn fiancé to the park. And they got out. It made the American cringe when Francis took the woman's hand and drifted into that happy field of children and women.

Then, he sat and waited, as he was meant to.

His blood boiled over.

Alfred was truly beginning to like that strange woman. He wanted to think that he loved her, but was not ready to admit that even to himself. Loving Anna seemed to be a great monument. It was like being the first one to climb a tall mountain, or discover a rare species of animal, or invent a wonderful device.

Perhaps an automobile.

Or a radio.

Or a television.

Or a computer.

Or the internet.

But Alfred did not invent those things, nor could he admit to loving Miss Ivanovna.

However, it did not take the sting away from the wound Francis Bonfeuille had inflicted. The American's arm was still bleeding. Blood was pouring onto his finely polished leather shoes.

And a Frenchman was laughing at him.

Perhaps he truly did love that nymph-that harsh little nymph that gave her soft side to him. He remembered her sweet face, as they sat in the grass together. He remembered the sandwiches. He remembered her soft lips and her lovely eyes and her long, slender neck.

Alfred wanted Anna all to himself. He wanted to be the only one to kiss her and hold her hand and embrace her.

So Alfred hated Francis. There was more loathing in his core for Francis Bonfeuille than he imagined possible and far more than he cared to admit.

And even if the driver boy was not entirely certain of his sentiments, he wished to eliminate that French bastard and take the princess for himself. So he could be the one who took her to the park and held her hand.

Maybe they could even make little candies together one day.

Miss Ivanovna would probably enjoy that.

Part of the fire melted away and was replaced with affection.

But the bitter abhorrence returned when Anna and Francis came to the carriage, to be taken home. Sad glances were exchanged briefly between Anna and her darling.

Then, they came to the mansion.

And the pair went inside, to leave Alfred to his horses and his burning upset.


	22. Chapter 22

Ellis and Andrei had been planning their wedding, and finally stopped. They sat upon one of the numerous sofas within one of the numerous parlors; backs leaned upon the red fabric of the couch. Ellis was placed upon her fiancé's shoulder, happy.

A smile wrapped around her mouth.

"You're not Dmitri, are you?"

"No, Love. I'm Andrei."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes. I'm certain."

Ellis kissed the man's shoulder. "I love your family, Andrei. But I have to say. It's nice to speak German again. I haven't spoken French in quite a long time."

"Now you know how I felt in Vienna. But then again, I've been speaking French as well. You come home to Russia, and you have to speak French the entire time."

"I'm sorry, my baby. Do you want to speak Russian?"

"No. You wouldn't understand what I said. That's not fair."

"Well, it's not fair that you have to speak all these different languages all the time. I'm sure that can't be simple."

"Don't worry, Ellis. I'm quite alright."

The two sat comfortably together for a long while.

"Andrei, how would you suggest I get to know Anna?"

"You don't get to know Anna."

"But why not?"

"Because Ellis- the woman is a lunatic. I mean, goodness. She wears trousers; she's ruthless. Anna is my sister and I love her, but…One can easily see that's she's not the friendly type."

"But Andrei, we're all going to be one enormous family soon. It's important to get to know one another. If I had any strange family members, I would want you to be well acquainted. It's simply important."

"I suppose you could try spending time with her. But don't go out of your way to be Anna's friend. If she doesn't want to be your companion, she won't be. There's not a damn thing that can be done."

"I couldn't sleep at night, if I didn't give her a chance."

"Well, good luck Ellis." The eldest sibling of the Braginski family kissed his tiny fiancé, who was sinking into his body-a feather falling into earth's cool plains.

The next day, Ellis awoke early and wrapped herself within a fine gown. It was a rosy affair-complete with frills and fine pink silk. The cascade of full-bodied and gorgeous hair was allowed free, a few pins sitting against the Austrian bride's scalp.

Ellis looked as though she was ready to go outside, and indeed-she was. There was hope in her heart that the younger sister would come out with her, perhaps to get something to drink or eat; maybe a trinket of types could even be purchased.

The porthole to Miss Ivanovna's door was knocked upon.

It opened slowly, and the owner of the chamber peeked outside to see her future sister-in-law.

"Hello, Ellis." There was a sigh at the center of her chest, but it was kept in confinement.

It wasn't as though Anna did not like Ellis; she simply found it difficult to stand next to her.

"Hello, Anna." A smile sweet as a ripe apple. "Are you busy today?"

"Well- I was going to paint."

"Oh. Would you mind taking a break today? I really hoped we could spend some time together-to get to know one another. Perhaps we could go and drink some tea, or eat a few pastries. Anything you like; you obviously know this city better than I do."

Anna only managed to stare for a short period. "Why do you want to get to know me, Ellis? I'm sure Andrei has told you plenty of horror stories."

"Not really. But even if he did, I would still invite you out. Horror stories or not, you're going to be my sister."

Anna's stomach was a mix of strange anger and happy pink affection. Why was Ellis so perfect? The woman was like a cherry upon a fat dollop of vanilla ice cream. To make that beautiful Austrian worse, she was kind. Teeth ached at her sweetness.

And those eyes-there was such plead inside them. Emeralds nearly begged Anna to come-to go into town with her and indulge in the most awkward of girly pleasures.

The coming breath was trapped a second time. "I'll come with you Ellis. I just don't want to look at clothing."

"We don't have to do that. I don't need clothing anyhow." That snow white visage was burning neon and the one watching that strange phenomenon did not know how to react. "So, what time do you want to go? Would after breakfast be alright?"

"Yes, Ellis. We can go after breakfast…You don't have to dress up so nicely, you know. My family will probably love you, as long as you don't behave as I do."

There lied a flash of sadness across that dollish face. "Your family does love you, Anna."

"I'll meet you after breakfast."

The bear returned to her cave.

So the family ate together, Ellis sitting next to Anna, giving her plenty of off smiles that did not fail to make her entirely uncomfortable. Not many of those molasses coded grins were returned, but Anna tried.

It was odd-being around others who actually wanted to know her.

They left after finishing their meals.

Anna and Ellis walked into town- a suggestion from the foreigner herself, and traveled in relative silence as they did so.

Feet led them far before Ellis raised her voice.

"I really love your hair, Anna."

"Thank you, even though I don't think you're telling the truth."

"But I _am_ telling the truth. I was thinking about cutting my hair like yours. It's really very cute. I'm sure it's much easier to keep clean as well."

"Ellis, don't cut your hair. You don't need to be like me."

A slight silence. "Anna, why do you say such sad things? You're great." Cold blue ice met a green wonderland. "It's amazing that you can spend so much time devoting yourself to art. You know-I play the piano. But I never really threw my heart into it-like I wanted to. I focused on becoming a wife. And in finding a husband. It must be silly considering I'm so old. But still, it's what I made important. I've also found that trousers are more comfortable than dresses, but I never bothered with them because, well. It's unorthodox. That's the great thing, though-you don't give a damn about _orthodox_. You're simply _you_, even if someone doesn't find it tasteful."

They stopped walking.

"Your mother shouldn't have beaten you for changing your hair. It looks fantastic."

Anna could not believe her ears, as though those drums were playing a terrible trick. Ellis was _trying_ to remove her crux and chew upon it. Those heavenly fingers were playing her heart strings like a harp and the music shook her blood.

It hurt. It really fucking hurt.

"Stop. You're making me out to be something I'm not. The truth is, Ellis, I'm not a kind person. I'm not great. In a lot of instances, I'm down right awful. You're too goddamn perfect- to be my friend. I'm certain you'll end up hating me."

Ellis wore a combination of flattery and sadness. "My mother told me I'm only allowed to hate one person in my entire life, and you're silly if you think I'd waste that on my sister-in-law. Maybe you don't believe you're great, but you are. Even if you can't see all your good qualities, you still have them."

An actual sigh this time. "I don't know how to deal with you. I'm upset but I can't be blunt or cruel, and maybe because you're giving me a chance. Let's talk of something else."

"Anna, you shouldn't believe the horrible things they say. Those words become reality when you take them seriously. Even when they're not true."

The tall Russian girl did not have a word to say; she was merely lost. Her throat was dry. Her lungs had become arid. This kindness drowned her. Miss Ivanovna was sinking in quick sand made of sugar.

Maybe she wasn't such an awful person. Maybe all those goddamn insults didn't have a bit of pertinence, but the woman still let them shape her. Maybe, at one time, Anna was a kind and innocent girl they had raised crooked.

She didn't start evil. She knew she didn't.

They took her innocence. They made her a harsh cynic. Her brother, for watching as their mother beat her. Her father for allowing those mangled punishments, and only easing them when they went just _a little_ too far.

And her mother.

Natasha.

Natasha turned her heart to stone.

How the fuck was she supposed to go back? Their terrible thoughts had scarred her back. They had been taken seriously so long.

Anna found her face in her hands.

Then she found Ellis at her waist.

"What the hell have you done to me? I didn't want to cry."

"I'm sorry, Anna."

Then, the pain.

"I love you."

The blond thing with short hair- a broken scalp- began to sob. She wept like a child, the center of the street, where everyone stopped and stared.

But Ellis did not leave her.

It was the first time in an eternity that Anna felt like a human.

And she loved Ellis too.

Because Ellis gave a damn.

It was the same adoration the artist owned for Alfred. This sentiment could not be admitted or placed into words. It existed inside that Russian princess, and all that could be done was embody it in paint. In colors and gorgeous lines and passion.

The Austrian took her sister's palm and they walked forward, heading deeper into that city, all while Anna became more comfortable within her flesh.


	23. Chapter 23

Anna stood in the kitchen once more, with her silver spoon seeping in lemon syrup, and her flower shaped molds that seemed so happy. Her brother was not there. In fact, no one was. The woman was entirely by herself, thinking of all things and in some kind of odd state of surreal euphoria and liberation.

It was the first time in a very long while that Anna felt empowered. Because it had finally occurred to her that she did not need to be what the world labeled her. What brands her awful mother had etched into her back. The scars did not own her. They did not define that odd thing named Anna Ivanovna. They were merely a fragment of her-scratches upon the surface of who she truly was.

Ellis had cut away the chains Anna had been carrying. And those Austrian hands-those beautiful hands-gave the rusted iron to the slave. The deep orange locks that had been wrapped around her ankles ever since she was five years old.

No. Ever since she could do wrong.

A few of the lemon drops were placed inside a pretty lace bag. The draw strings were tugged upon sweetly, causing the silk to whisper kind words of thanks.

And upon all that freedom, Alfred sat. The star to the very zenith of a Christmas tree.

That driver boy had been infecting her heart since the very first moment they had met. But now, since her barbed wire guard had been dropped, the man captured her entirely. The virus had won.

Anna thought about his golden blond hair, and those sweet blue eyes. She thought about his handsome face and his olive completion. She thought about his acceptance and the lack of a sour judgment.

Anna simply thought about _Alfred_.

And she wanted to see him.

More lemon drops were given to another pure container. It was added to the pile and another batch began.

As the long process of candy making went on, Anna's soft heart radiated through her cheeks. Her entire face was a charming rose-not the pallid and snowy wasteland it was beforehand.

When the drops were done, Anna made sandwiches.

And the liberated Russian princess went outside.


	24. Chapter 24

A few days had passed, and Anna's odd sentiment faded away, to a degree. She saw Ellis again between their walk together and all the events falling around her, fat and heavy as a rainfall.

As it turned out, Ellis was entirely serious. The tiny Austrian appeared inside her room, hair cut just as her fiancé's, with a thick black braid sitting inside her hand.

Anna wore a bit of shock. But she had to admit, her sister-in-law certainly looked rather cute with short hair. A doll that had decided to break apart common society and have cute _little_ curls.

For the first time, Anna initiated a smile.

The next morning at breakfast, Andrei asked his sister what exactly she had done to Ellis. The man would not let it out, but the loss of his darling's gorgeous black cascade broke his heart into a million scattered pieces. What was worse was that Andrei had not been consulted. His bride merely showed up one day, short of her lovely tresses and _nearly_ proud of herself.

Anna simply elected not to answer him.

The next set of days consisted of wedding plans that were hardly paid attention to. They chose the ballroom. They discussed colors and flowers and decorations. There was even some talk of Ellis selecting a dress. Oh, and the guest list was made up as well.

The immigrant and her husband-to-be kept themselves well occupied.

In the middle of the chaos, Francis Bonfeuille snuck back into the equation, bearing bright roses and a body smelling of pricey cologne.

He was showed to Anna's room.

She glared at him immediately.

"Oh, you again. I don' recall inviting you back here, Bonfeuille."

"Well, I don't recall you banishing me forever, either." The man took a spot within the subject's chair near Anna's bed. "So, how have you been?"

"Free."

"Free? What makes you say that?"

"I feel liberated."

"What makes you feel liberated?"

"I'd tell you, but I doubt you'd honestly care." A puff of smoke, from the lips of that plump mouth.

It was at that point that Francis noticed Anna's strange beauty. Her face was sweeter than it usually was. A few shades pinker. And her eyes- fierce as they may have been-did not hold the same cruelty to them. They were warmer. Francis could even get lost inside them without bleeding to death.

"Anna, what is that-on your wall?"

Ellis' braid had been tacked up, springing from that barrier as a horse's tail.

"That's my sister-in-law's hair. She cut it short like mine and gave me what was left."

"I see. It's very black. Did she tell you why she cut her hair?"

"Ellis told me that she liked my style. So, she changed hers. I think it's more of an attempt to be close to me. If I had hair like hers-I doubt I would cut it. Not for anything," Anna sketched the outline of an imaginary woman's face. "She doesn't have to do that for me. I already love her. But then again, I hate her as well."

"What makes you hate her?"

"She's so perfect. It's just not fair."

"Oh, Anna. You don't strike me as the type to care about what others do, or who they are."

"I'm usually not." Filthy air leaked away. "I just wish I was her."

"Why is that?"

"She's happy."

They sat in silence for a very long time after that.

"I brought you flowers."

"Why did you do that? I still dislike you."

"Only _dislike? _What happened to _hate?_ Have I been doing a better job?"

"No. I've decided I'm going to hate less people…I've wasted too much time being upset."

Francis' mouth moved into something of a grin. "Well, I still love you. Even though you're quite cruel to me." The Frenchman got up and handed the blooms to his artist.

"You're not supposed to love someone who's cruel to you, you idiot. Why don't you go find someone who appreciates your stupid language and your moronic culture?"

"Because, you harsh thing, I love _you_."

"_You don't love me!_" The hand that was not holding the cigarette smacked the roses onto the floor beneath them. Then, Anna smoked with rigid hands, anger getting the best of her. The two stared at one another. "You don't love me, alright? You barely know who I am, Bonfeuille."

"No, Anna. I do know who you are. You're a self-centered coward. You make yourself meaner than you truly are to cause men like me to disappear. I don't even think you enjoy being so snarky. Somewhere inside your heart, you wish to be kind to others, but you won't allow yourself the privilege because of your terror. The thought of me being your husband makes you quiver, doesn't it? The thought of being too near to anyone _has_ you frightened."

The flowers were taken from the ground and placed within the woman's arms.

"Why don't you just give me a chance? Allow me some time. If I can't get you to love me, I'll simply go away. After all, I have no intention to marry a woman who can't stomach me. But you may be surprised, Miss. You might even grow to like me if you'd stop forcing yourself to be bitter. But I certainly won't go until you allow me to try. Until _you_ try, Anna."

A puff of tobacco.

"I can see the sweetness in your eyes. You're not the person you make yourself out to be. Perhaps there's someone else who doesn't quite know you."

Anna was not certain of what to say. And in her confusion, a piece of that kindness showed. Her expression was pliable. Francis had robbed her of strength.

"Alright…I'll try."

"Truly?"

"Yes, truly."

"Thank you." Francis' mouth assaulted that cheek. "Now, why don't we begin again? What is that picture you're making?"

"I have no idea. Right now, it's only a woman." The tobacco was extinguished. "I'm sorry about the roses."

"That's alright. They're only flowers."

"And I'm sorry for ruining your blouse."

"That was ages ago, Anna. I've gotten over it."

The woman sighed and the man embraced her, resting that fuzzy chin against her shoulder.

"Why are you holding me?"

"I'm forgiving you, silly."

And then, Anna thought back to what Ellis had said. There was no reason the Russian woman had to be what they had labeled her. She _could_ be kind.

Perhaps she might be happier allowing others inside.

Because as much as it hurt to admit, Francis had been right. She was terrified. Of husbands. Of friends she had not selected herself. Perhaps even of love.

But Anna still loved Alfred.

She was just uncertain of marrying him.

It was still a horrifying thought.

"Francis, I'm sorry for being so harsh to you."

"It's alright, Anna."

Then, despite that barbed wire barrier's pleading, the woman relaxed within that hold. It was uncertain if the right decision was being made. It didn't feel correct. But then, it did not feel wrong, either. It certainly felt _better_.

Anna wanted to change. Not entirely. However, there was a desire to be kind. To be happy in a world of people who loved her.

The thorn bush she had been encased in was no longer worth the sacrifice.

Perhaps it never was.


	25. Chapter 25

Alfred found himself within Anna's chamber, sitting at the edge of her bed, watching the woman as she lied upon the surface of the mattress.

His shoes were off.

The man tried to remember how he got there.

Oh, yes. Anna had come outside at sunset, took his hand and dragged him away.

The driver boy listened as Miss Ivanovna breathed softly.

"Lie down with me Alfred." Their hands touched, Anna's sitting upon her lover's. "I've missed you."

"You've missed me? That's sweet of you, Annushka." Fingers twined. "I have to be honest, I'm not certain I should be here."

"In my room?" Anna sat up. "Why? Is it inappropriate?"

"Yes; it is."

"Do you think I'm going to make love with you?" The tall woman sat next to her American, lips sitting right against his ear. "You can have me if you want me."

"You shouldn't tempt me that way."

A kiss against Alfred's cheek. "Have you ever been intimate with a woman before?"

"Yes, Anna. I have been."

"Good. Virgins make me upset."

"Then I suppose-"

"No. Neither of us is pure any longer…" Anna's milky white fingers traced that tanned neck line. "Why don't you lie down with me?"

Alfred-ignoring the screaming worry within his mind-complied, taking the pillow next to Anna's. They faced one another, little grins making up their faces.

Lips pressed together.

And bodies grew nearer.

Anna's palms came to Alfred' chest, finger tips wringing the fabric slightly-in a passion.

The first few buttons came undone.

Then, their mouths stopped.

"Anna-"

"Alfred, please. Let me have you." Touch adhered to that collarbone. "I want you."

"But you have a fiancé, even if you don't like him-" Oh. Alfred just realized how much he _himself_ disliked Francis.

French bastard.

"Maybe we could simply touch one another."

Oh, Alfred. Even that's dishonorable. How would you feel if you had a fiancé who so much as touched another man? Perhaps you detest that Bonfeuille, but taking his so called woman doesn't make you the better man. If anything, it makes you _worse_.

"That sounds like a wonderful idea." Anna unbuttoned her trousers. Then she pulled them off and tossed them upon the floor.

As it turned out, she was not wearing undergarments.

Next came her blouse.

That also landed upon the new-found pile of cottons.

Alfred's grip-without a moment of resistance-touched that chest as tongues wrapped together once more, worn down thumbs drawing slight circles around Anna's little pink blossoms. The Russian princess released a quiet moan.

It was at that moment that Alfred noticed what a lovely body Anna had. Yes, she was quite thin, and yes, those breasts were small, but all of her features seemed to work together. This woman would have been even stranger with a fuller build and a larger chest.

Alfred could not even picture it.

A hand moved lower upon that body.

Two of Alfred's fingers slipped between Anna's slender legs, sliding past her inner most pink and allowing a cry to escape her throat; it was a slight wine. Either knew they had to remain silent, but it was evident.

"Oh, Alfred…"

The woman was already soaked.

Perhaps that was the reason Anna came outside to fetch him. So far, Alfred had hardly touched her and already, his finger was well drenched.

It took him a moment to believe this was truly occurring.

A pair of digits found their way inside that crevice and gently began to work in and out, entering that woman up to the knuckles.

Anna's pretty mouth fell open, quiet breath exiting plump lips. Her hand came to Alfred's shoulder-touch entirely loving and completely soft. It was rare to see her this way; so saccharine and open.

This portion of Anna Ivanovna was not given to anyone. Alfred had a feeling that even the men she _had_ slept with were not given this honey. They were probably offered simple instruction. 'Touch me here. Lick me there' and that would be all.

But this driver boy was special.

Alfred pressed Anna into the sheets and hovered above her, that hand still working at her opening while he pushed either of their mouths together. The woman's tongue was caught between mounds to be savored by her lover; it was suckled upon lightly-just as a piece of candy.

As all that went on, Anna worked on Alfred's garments, unfastening the rest of those awful clasps upon his shirt and unbuttoning those constraining pants.

Everything halted a moment, and the man's garments were quickly tossed to the floor, with the remainder of the clothing.

And either of them took a moment to reposition themselves.

Anna sat upon Alfred's lap and took a hold of that member, which had become quite firm within the last few minutes and gave aggressive little tugs.

Oh, she knew _precisely_ what she was doing.

"Anna…"

Lips hooked and tongues wrestled. Either could feel the steam rising from one another's bodies. They held one another near, gripping at shoulders and hips, and backs, all while the pair became drenched in a kind of thick euphoria.

Anna had never wanted a man more in her life, just as Alfred had never wanted a woman more in his. Their blood was on fire. Oil poured onto open flame.

Alfred's hand found its way back between those willing thighs, index finger rubbing small circles into that pink pearl.

It caused Anna to quiver.

Then, a petit wail.

"Oh, Alfred…" A thumb settled at the tip of the American's cock, drawing a line against that slit.

Anna wanted to tell him about her blossoming adoration. About how much she loved him and how badly she wanted him inside of her. How much she wanted to kiss him and make love forever.

But her throat could not muster the words. Each one was choked upon, as though they were made from sinful ash and tiny fragments of porcelain.

The only thing Anna Ivanovna could do was express herself in action.

So a kind hand was given to that rock hard member as the woman worked with her darling's fingers. Moans were birthed together, intense passion was shared, and tongues became swollen.

Then, the pair finished. Anna climaxed first with Alfred following shortly behind her.

Bodies fell onto the bed and embraced one another, somewhat out of breath and in a gorgeous state of delusion.

The words 'I love you' attempted to spit from the woman's throat. They tried so hard to be born-but they cut like daggers. The phrase was simply too large to exhale.

So Anna merely kissed Alfred, wanting to weep but far too stupid to accomplish even that.

They lied there a few hours, and at two o' clock in the morning, the driver boy finally left. He snuck out before Anna even noticed his absence; she was well unconscious anyway.

A peck was offered to her cheek.

And Alfred escaped without anyone noticing him.


	26. Chapter 26

Natasha watched as her daughter's face lit up. How it seemed far more radiant than usual. How her eyes were brighter-and no longer so harsh and brutal.

And Natasha watched as her daughter spent time with Francis Bonfeuille and did not act as a terrible brute. In fact, the young woman was practically _kind_ to him. No longer so determined to pour wine about his fine clothes, or to shoot him down whenever he paid a kindness to her. Anna accepted his gifts. She accepted his heart and his little kisses and even his secret little, 'I love you's, which were crafted for her and her alone.

The mother was convinced that her terrible child was in love.

And Natasha was even correct.

But Anna was not in love with Francis Bonfeuille. All her affections were aimed toward a certain American man, with such a handsome face and such a gentle heart.

Anna loved everything about Alfred.

She loved his eyes and lips and hair. She loved his slightly browned tone. She loved those sharp spectacles poised so well upon his face. She loved the way he smelled-of the real world and the outdoors. She loved the way he would embrace her. She loved the way she fell into his arms as butter melts against a flame. She loved the way he would kiss her. She even loved the way he made her tongue swell.

There was no part of Alfred that Anna did not adore. The whole of him was a generous field of beauty. Eye candy for the starved.

One morning, Anna was sitting at breakfast, chin sitting within her palm and eyes shot into the glowing window. Her cheeks were entirely washed-as though she had taken in too much wine, and utter intoxication flooded her senses.

Everyone took a moment to regard her.

Andrei and Ellis whispered in their sweet and secretive German. Dmitri observed his sister as a grand statue and began to write a poem describing her. Ivan marveled at his darling's silly pulchritude. And Natasha spoke the fuck up.

"Why, child-you look as though you're in love. Don't tell me your awful tricks have back fired on you."

"Tricks can't back fire when they aren't used, mother. And I'm certainly not in love. I was merely thinking of a painting I still need to finish."

Natasha simply regarded Anna as a police officer would regard a felon who had not yet been convicted. She knew that this awful child of hers _was_ in love. _She knew it_.

"Well, I'm really quite certain that you're lying to me. But of course, Anna. It _must _be a painting."

The daughter did not make reply, even though she was well tempted to create some awful comment. In truth, nothing nasty came to her mind, and Anna was getting quite tired of playing the part of the shrew.

Unfortunately, being kind meant being king to most _everyone_. Even that goddamn Natasha.

For a moment, Anna looked at that woman. Something made her quite upset as well. Natasha was not by any means ugly. In fact, in a lot of ways, the woman was beautiful. But it was so hard to even see a bit of that attractive face. The mother had robbed herself of attractiveness well before ago could even touch her youthful visage.

Whenever Anna looked at her mother, she saw a sad and decrepit woman who led a life of misery at her own hand. Something bitter had eaten away her heart and nothing was done to expel that rotten parasite. In fact, Natasha herself may have placed it there.

And for the first time in the longest time-Anna did not look at her mother with burning hatred. Anna looked at her mother with overwhelming pity. Because Ellis was right. No one had to be cruel, and no one had to be the things they were accused of.

Perhaps someone was terribly cruel to her, and after a long enough time, the woman simply began to believe the awful diatribes that were thrown at her.

She caught the plates that her parents threw at dinner time. And she saved the vases her siblings knocked over. She took the punches her companions would throw at her.

She accepted a loveless marriage for her children.

Anna began to feel sick.

So she left the breakfast table and went back to the painting-as a lie was not told. There truly was another piece of artwork weighing upon her brow.

For the remainder of that day, Anna placed color against an empty canvas, and she thought of all the goodness within her life. And how very glad she felt to simply be a sweeter person. Yes-she thought. There would be times when cruelty would be necessary. Maybe it would be incredibly difficult _not_ to use it. But it felt better to simply be kind and live in a state of _almost_ peace than constant battle.

No, she would not allow her mother to win. Anna was not going to marry Francis Bonfeuille.

But the war did not need to be so violent.

Anna went outside after her painting was complete-to find her driver boy.


	27. Chapter 27

Anna stood within her room, staring at herself within the mirror contained in the corner. He was layered inside some strange affair-a happy yellow dress with enough frills to repair a broken dam. It was incredibly uncharacteristic; another gown that Monsieur Bonfeuille had given to her.

She was to see him tonight, while they all had dinner with one another.

It was a nice dress. It would have been wonderful on anyone else but her. The woman simply was not meant for a gown. And gowns were not meant her.

The rouge upon her cheeks was regarded. The shadow upon her eyes.

Nothing looked quite right.

But it was too late for compromise.

So Anna went to dinner, and she sat at the table with the rest of her family.

Oh, how lovely they were, in their fine clothing. Andrei and Dmitri in their freshly pressed outfits-silk shirts and expensive trousers. Their father, wearing a wonderful garment of black with happy silver buttons. Natasha and her ancient pearls, dressed in blue satin.

And Ellis, oh little Ellis. Tailored in pink and lace and perfume. With her beautiful face, made up to be a perfect porcelain doll. The Austrian genuinely looked as though she was a child's play thing; something a little girl would pick up and pretend with.

Something a little would want to be.

Her green eyes were so sharp. Like two emeralds against a white feather pillow.

Surrounded in black lace.

Even her short, ruined hair seemed to match. That slight touch of boyishness was purely correct. Even without long hair, the woman was still a brand new toy. Polished and sparkling.

Then there was the Frenchman.

He sat next to Anna, smelling of strong cologne and an old suitcase. But Francis looked nice. Pressed in a flashy red blouse and a familiar pair of black trousers. They were old and well used, but they were friendly.

Both Anna and her fiancé were out of place.

A brush of facial hair upon her cheek.

"Hello, Miss Anna. You look lovely tonight. I recognize this dress." He touched her sleeve. "It's nice to see you in it."

"Thank you." It was hard not to spit in his face sometimes.

He took her hand, just as Andrei would hold Ellis', but it did not evoke the same emotion. In Anna, it merely made a mess between boiling discomfort and mild sickness.

Truth be told, the woman was slowly beginning to like Bonfeuille. But she was not ready for this.

She was not ready to feign love or love at all.

It even made her jealous of Andrei and Ellis. Because their affection was true. Ellis did not have to pretend to adore her lover. There was a burning passion for the man eating up her heart. Anyone could cast a glance at her and see it. The conflagration burned inside her eyes. Beneath those bright spectacles.

"I've missed you, Anna."

"Why would you miss me, Francis? That's silly."

"Well, you're so pretty." That short blond hair was brushed slightly with those cruel French fingers. "And you know how I love you. I love your paintings. And I love your height. And I love your hair. And your strength." They were very near to one another. "But most of all, I love your lips."

Kiss.

Vomit.

"Oh, look at all these love birds!" Natasha seemed quite joyous. "Anna, it's so wonderful to see you with a man this way. You're both very nice together." Then, she turned to her son and daughter-in-law to be. "And goodness, you two are simply so sweet, even if it does sadden me to see Ellis with such short hair."

"I think Ellis looks fine with her hair that way. She would be beautiful bald."

"Well, of course you think so, you silly girl. It's your fault. Not to mention, you both have the same exact style. And in my opinion, it's far too short."

"It's not the first time you're wrong, mother."

Natasha wore her rage well.

"Thank you, Anna." Ellis' red cherry mouth curled at the edges.

A mere nod from the one sitting next to the Frenchman. Yes. Anna had never loved and hated anyone more than Ellis.

So they all ate dinner with one another, fine roast chicken with tasty green vegetables. Rich sauce over the entire affair. It was quite delicious, but the poor Russian princess could not even focus upon the taste of the dish. Her awful French fiancé spent too much time kneading her hands, kissing her cheeks, whispering horrible things within her hair.

Like, 'I love you.'

It murdered her appetite.

Then dinner was over and Anna did not stay for desert. The unhappy woman in her happy yellow dress rose and pushed in her chair.

"I'm going to paint."

"Anna, why don't you eat desert with us?" Her father offered a kind smile. As if to say, 'I know you hate this man. But I'll miss you if you go.'

"I should watch my girlish figure."

"Child, I can see your ribs from here." Natasha. "Right beneath your dress."

Francis rose with the rebellious thing, knowing part of this was for his benefit. "I don't think I'll be having any desert either. Thank you for dinner."

"Don't tell me you have to watch your girlish figure too."

"No, no dear." Francis touched his fiancé's cheek. "I only have to watch yours. Well, let's go paint." That dainty hand was stolen and the two exited together, to leave all the others to whisper about their sister and quite possible brother-in-law.

Before Anna and Francis could reach the woman's chamber, her arm was taken, and the sudden pair went outside. Yes, of course Miss Ivanovna was confused, but sometimes it was far easier to simply avoid a flustered argument. So she went along with it.

The stood in the back yard, before the expanse of grass.

Francis hooked his mouth to her blushing apple again.

"Why do you keep kissing me?"

"Because, you silly woman. I love you."

"It's almost as though if you say that enough I might actually believe you."

"But _don't_ you believe me? Look, you're even wearing the dress I got you. We go together, don't we?"

"We might go together better if you were a little less French."

"Oh, Anna." Blond brushed behind her ear. "I thought you told me you were going to be nice."

"I'm trying." A cigarette was pulled from the woman's chest. It was slightly bent. "Have you seen me lately? I've been smoking less. It's hard to be nice…" Francis offered her a matchbook. She lit her tobacco.

"Well…I'm glad you're allowing me a chance. Do you like me a little more now?"

"Yes, I suppose so…I still don't want to get married. But you're really not bad. I just wish you would stop brining me things. You don't have to buy me."

"I like to bring you things. Anna, you're going to be my wife. I want to spoil you."

"But you don't even need to." A drag stolen from the burning cigarette. The embers glowed within the dark before they were flicked into the grass. "I-" A look of pain. "I'm not even sure what to say any longer."

No, that was not true. Anna _did_ know what she wanted to say. Anna wanted to tell her fiancé that they were not going to marry. That's what she _wished_ to say. But even in her heart, the woman knew it was not necessarily true. This was very well the end of the line. Anna knew she was becoming old, as far as married standards go. If there was any normality inside her, she would have been wed _years_ before now.

They wouldn't allow her to marry Alfred either.

Did she even want to be chained forever to that beautiful American? Certainly, there was love for him. No-There was more than that. Anna's heart fucking sang when Alfred sat inside her mind. He took her veins and tied them into bows, as though they were ribbons.

Jesus, when they were near to one another, Anna's entire body felt pink. Her heart pulsed so goddamn hard. The radiation sat on her cheeks and dried out her mouth.

But she couldn't even admit it.

"I just don't want you to spoil me…"

"Well, that's unfortunate, miss Anna. I brought you another present."

"Francis-"

"No, love. I don't want to hear it." A petit box was given to the woman from the man's pocket. "Please, open it."

And that's what Anna did.

Within that container was a pearl necklace, with a silver clasp and crème colored orbs that made the entire thing up. It managed to shine, even in the moonlight, each of those tiny droplets grinning at her, all at once.

"Do you like it?"

Pause. "You really do love me, don't you?"

"Well…" That chain was taken from Anna's fingers and given softly to her neck; it was fastened in the back. "That's what I've been trying to tell you." Arms wrapped around her waist. "It looks beautiful on you."

Anna wasn't even certain of what to say.

"Will you lie in the grass with me?"

Anna _still _didn't know what to say. In fact, she wanted to sit down and regain her sanity. That blond head had become incredibly light. It felt as though the blood within her poor corpse went rushing toward her feet.

It burned where the man's embrace touched.

The truth was finally sinking in.

Francis Bonfeuille loved Anna Ivanovna. Yes. He _loved_ her. Perhaps he even adored her.

And it was _there_. Surrounding her. Stringing her up by the hips and breathing into the curves of her neck.

The evidence lied within Francis' eyes.

"Alright." The cigarette was extinguished. "That sounds nice."

So the two lied within the grass together, Anna going into something like shock while Francis enjoyed the nearness.

"I love you, Anna."

"I'm certain you do, Francis."

Her voice was dead.


	28. Chapter 28

Anna resided in her room with Alfred beneath the covers. They touched one another softly. Lips. Cheeks. Necks.

"How have you been, Annushka?"

"I've been…alright. Ellis and Andrei are going back to Austria next week." Anna's mouth pressed together momentarily. "They've decided on a date for their wedding as well. It's going to be in August-on the first."

"That's in about four months. Isn't that extremely fast?"

"I think so. But Andrei said neither of them wanted to wait a long time. That, and they've already began planning. Perhaps it's easier because they don't have to choose a venue. The wedding is going to be here."

"Are they going to talk this over with Ellis' parents?"

"I would assume so. I think they're going to plan more in Vienna. Ellis wouldn't be comfortable buying a dress here, since she can't really speak Russian. Not to mention-buying a wedding gown is something one would want to do with their own mother. I'm positive she'll come back with something lovely and lacey."

"Are you going to miss them, Anna?"

"I suppose so." Those cold blue eyes moved to the ceiling, catching nothing but a strange darkness. "It'll be odd, not having them around. I think I'll miss Ellis, even if she does upset me sometimes."

"Why does she upset you?" Alfred kissed his darling's forehead. And oh, how her little heart burst in the purest of uncut joy. It did not cause the type of anxiety that Francis caused. In fact, Alfred's pretty mouth made her entire body tingle and her face burst into swelling color. "I've met her once or twice, and she seems very sweet."

"Well-that's just the thing. There's nothing wrong with her. Ellis is like a princess from a story book. She's kind and loving and warm." The next few words rolled within Anna's mouth. "I wouldn't admit this to a lot of people-but I'm insanely jealous of her. She's so happy and _so_ at peace with herself. It makes me furious when she's kind to me, because I desperately want something to be horribly wrong with her. If she was cruel, I could at least say, 'oh well. She might be beautiful, but she's a horrible person'. Or maybe, she could have been somewhat deformed. You know-_ugly_. With a big nose, or tiny lips, or eyes the size of pepper seeds. Even stupid ears would do. But she's so lovely…I honestly think she's one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen. And I love her. But at the same time, I can't even bare to look at her. I hate her for all the perfection she has."

"You don't actually believe that, do you? There's something off with everyone. Ellis may _seem_ perfect, but she might be hiding her faults. That's completely normal. And it's something people do all the time. Even if she is so called 'perfect' who cares? You'll always be you, Anna. And even if you aren't _perfect_, I still find you to be fantastic. Honestly, your faults only give your more character. I've never met a woman like you, and I doubt I ever will again. As wonderful as Ellis might be, I'm almost certain that you're more interesting."

Anna sighed. But it wasn't a sigh of exasperation, or one of pain. It was a sigh that held every last one of her emotions. Her love and her passion and all the desires held for a certain driver boy.

"What the hell do I even say to that?"

I love you.

I love you so much, my chest hurts.

I could fucking cry-that's how much I love you.

"I-" Breath. "Alfred, I think you're perfect."

"Oh, Anna. _Me?_ You're being silly. I'm just a driver boy. I almost never have a damn rouble in my pocket and I suffer from some kind of moronic wanderlust. I'm _far _from perfect."

"Maybe so, but you're perfect to me."

Even in the dark, Anna could observe her American's classic smile.

"You're sweet, Annushka. Why are you being so kind to me anyway?"

Because I adore you, _you idiot_.

"You're my best friend, and you've got a good heart. I really have no reason to be cruel to you." I wish you were my fiancé. "You're my favorite person, Alfred."

The man tugged the stupid and blushing girl into an embrace. Their bare chests grew together-for a moment.

"I don't want you to take this the wrong way, Anna. But I think you've been changing lately."

"How so?"

"I've noticed how kind you're being…I mean to say that you seem happier, even. And a lot more open."

"Well, I've decided I don't need to be awful. That I don't have to be the terrible things people say I am. A shrew-a bitch. I earnestly want my life to improve, and I think to make any improvements, I would have to change _myself_ first. I can still wear my trousers and button-downs. I can still have my hair short. The fact is, it simply feels better to be kind person, I suppose. There's no sadness in my heart for giving the cold shoulder to those I love."

Pause.

"I've been lonely long enough."

Alfred merely held the slender thing tightly. But then he spoke. "That's wonderful, Anna."

"I think so as well."

"So…I assume that means you're not going to play dirty anymore with your fiancé?"

"Well, no." A little discomfort sat within Anna's blood. "But we made a deal. If I don't love him, we're not going to marry. He told me that wedding a woman who couldn't stand him would be unwise for either of us. And I don't love him. No, he's not as horrendous as I thought him to be, but he's certainly not someone I adore-someone I _could_ adore, for that matter. It honestly wouldn't be so bad, if we could only be friends. But he wants more."

"And you don't. Not out of him."

"No, not at all."

The pair remained in silence for a very long time. The minutes passed, and they ate up one another's warmth. Pretty moths to pretty flames. Two strong magnets.

Anna simply enjoyed her love's heart beat.

She still wanted to eat him alive.

"I wish you were my fiancé, Alfred." The truth was nearly whispered inside the quiet.

"I wish I was your fiancé too, Anna."

I love you. She could hear it inside his mind. Or at least-she desperately wanted to. Just as badly as she wished to say it.

"I'm going to leave now. Before I fall asleep and get you into a world of trouble in the morning. But I'll see you soon, Anna."

"Can I come visit you tomorrow?"

"Of course you can. Whenever you like." Alfred kissed the saddened creature good-night. "Sleep well."

"Sleep well, Alfred."

And so suddenly, Anna found herself alone. Never before had she been so aware of the divide between servant and aristocrat. It was like trying to clear a gaping hole in the ground.

Unfortunately, Anna's wing had been broken by a certain black leather belt.

But they were healing.

She could fucking _taste_ it.


	29. Chapter 29

The entire family gathered outside as Andrei and Ellis boarded their carriage, carrying two suitcases each and saying good-byes with a sad kind of expression. As soon as the servants took their bags, they waved and so suddenly the pair was rolling away.

The entire event was something surreal. Andrei and Ellis had been home so long, it seemed as though the family was sending the young man away for the second time and their newest daughter away the first.

All of them found it difficult to imagine the two going all the way to Vienna. The city was just too damn far away.

When the carriage had disappeared from sight, everyone went back inside. Ivan ran to his papers. Natasha wondered toward her novel. Dmitri shuffled back to his notebook. And Anna sat before her newest painting.

But no one could earnestly focus.

They were all somewhat possessed by that little doll named Ellis and her absence. As well as the absence of their son and brother. However, most of the focus was given to the newest member to the family.

After all, when one knows a person for nearly two decades, they become less intriguing. But Ellis-_oh_, Ellis was brand new.

So Anna stared at her blank canvas, while all her thoughts shifted towards that tiny Austrian woman. Because it honestly felt as though the artist had just sent away one of her greatest friends.

Perhaps that was simply the effect Ellis had on people. They instantly loved her and the moment she went running away, a hole opened inside their chests. She left black holes wherever she walked, in the kindest manner imaginable.

Andrei was an incredibly lucky man.

Oh, Anna could imagine the entire scene. Her poor, poor parents sitting at home and waiting in a sick patience, longing for the return of their sweet girl.

And how surprised they would be- to see her return with all that lovely hair missing. But that concern wouldn't be touched upon at first. No. Firstly, the embraces, and the puckered up lips, and _then_ the comments. Her father would say, 'Your hair looks exactly like mine.' And her mother would say, 'Regardless, it looks really quite cute.'

And Andrei would stand outside that little circle of mother, father and child, waiting for his turn, holding back his upset at the loss of that ink-hued cascade.

This was all Anna' fault-this opening scene.

Suddenly, she felt like a thief, having Ellis' braid upon the wall.

Then, the entire family of pretty Austrians, a single Hungarian, and an out-of-place Russian man would all go inside and get something to eat, while discussing the trip over, and the stay within the Braginski household, and of course, the wedding.

Hell, perhaps a certain Anna Ivanovna might come up. Perhaps the family would know _exactly_ who to blame for Ellis' missing locks. Maybe something kind could come up. Maybe Anna wouldn't be called a lunatic.

Wouldn't that be wonderful?

The artist gasped in a breath and let it all out.

The portrait was too hard to focus on. Firstly, everything seemed wrong with it. The pencil lines were far too dark. There was a smudge in the left corner. The man's face didn't look quite right.

In fact, Anna found that she could not even regard it.

So she got up and went to her brother's room; Anna was certain Dmitri was having the same problem.

The door experienced a few hard knocks and was answered promptly by a frustrated looking young man. Poor Dmitri's brows were dropping, thick and heavy lines weighing against those expressive eyes.

It occurred to Anna how much he looked like their father and how much Andrei _almost_ looked like their mother.

Which was quite ridiculous, considering they were identical twins.

"Come on. Let's get the hell out of here." Those dainty thumbs smothered the elder siblings' eyebrows. "You can't write, can you?"

"No, I can't." A sigh. "What are we going to do?"

"I don't know yet. Maybe we could set something on fire-you know. Like a metaphor. We're both artists, aren't we?"

"Well, I have to be honest. I've been setting plenty of things on fire figuratively lately. How about some obnoxious French pastries? I could use something sweet."

"_French?_"

"Yes, Anna. _French._"

The young woman merely sighed. "Dima, you're going to be so fat one day. Fine. French pastries. Admittedly, I could use something sweet as well."

"Maybe we should invite papa too."

A nod in agreement.

Anna and Dmitri went to get their father, who was somewhat reluctant at first, but decided to accompany his children after some persuasion. So they all walked into town together, speaking of all things and attracting quite a few looks.

After all, not many families were made of enormous people and a very tall transvestite woman.

The entire party stopped outside of a French café and claimed their seats while rich coffees were delivered to them. Anna's was filled with chocolate, just as Dmitri's was. Ivan of course, was far too old for such a childish beverage.

"Oh, goodness. It's nice to be outside." The father, who barely fit within his chair, stretched out those humungous legs.

"Yes, it is." Dmitri offered a smile to his two opposites.

Anna lit up a cigarette.

Each one of them allowed a small sigh of contentment.

"I'm going to miss those two." Anna. "The home doesn't feel right, with either of them missing. It makes me uneasy."

"What makes you uneasy about it, Annushka?"

"Well…They're supposed to _be_ there. They filled up the whole house, and now they've gone missing. It feels as though it's going to be a very long time until Andrei and Ellis return."

Either man nodded.

"Well, how are you two anyway? I spend so much time in that damn office, I barely get to see my children."

"I'm quite fine." Dmitri placed his answer first. "I'm considering getting some of my works published. I mean-I've been writing so long now, it seems as though getting my stories into print only makes sense. After this one-I think I'll try to have whatever I write next be introduced to the public."

"And what have you been writing about, Dmitri?"

"All sorts of things…"

As the brother spoke of all the ideas revolving around within his mind, Anna receded into her own thoughts-as though she was making a cocoon of dreams. Alfred appeared within that cloudy mind, as he always did when Anna was to have a fever. Her palm settled against her chin and the whole world suddenly had cute blond bangs, handsome blue eyes and sparkling lenses.

Yes. The American made it horrendously difficult to focus on anything.

Her heart skipped a beat when she imagined his smile.

"Anna-"

Ivan's voice shook her from her trance. "Huh? What is it?"

"What have you been up to lately?"

"I've been painting."

Dmitri took a moment to laugh at his sibling. "You cheeks are bright red. Who were you thinking about?"

"Well, no one…"

A wide smile from the center child. "Aren't you going to get angry at me for implying you're _in love?_ You've been so out of character lately."

"Is it true, Anna? Are you in love?"

"No! Of course not! Even if I _was_ in love it wouldn't be with that _goddamn_ frog! Why are we in a French café anyway? _I hate France!_"

Dmitri and Ivan were laughing at the youngest member of the family.

"What? _You two are just like a bunch of women!_ What does it even matter if I'm in love?"

"Anna, Anna…" Stifled joy. "Please, love. Calm down. You're in public." The father touched his daughter's knuckles. "We're only kidding. And really, its' quite alright if you've fallen for Francis. We're happy for you."

"_But I don't love him._"

Before anymore arguments could be made, a mess of cake and croissants landed upon the table; it all distracted from the look of disbelief against the men's faces and any retort Anna would have to make.

And inside Anna's realm of chocolate cake and buttery croissants, she began to think of all the people who had affected her so heavily in the past few weeks.

She wanted to be near Alfred again.

They had only seen each other a few days ago, and already, Anna' heart held a certain longing inside it.

The family returned after finishing their confections.


	30. Chapter 30

The obligatory visit from Francis Bonfeuille arrived once again, just as an obligatory blizzard in the winter or an obligatory sickness after being caught in the rain.

Anna was sitting outside when the Frenchman caught her. He had arrived just in time to interrupt her reading session.

"Oh. It's you isn't it, Francis?"

"_Bien sûr_." The seat next to Anna was taken.

"Don't you have anything to buy my affection with?" Anna folded the page's ear.

"No, _ma mignonne_. Not today. Besides, you told me you didn't want any more gifts."

"Well, you listened to me. I can't fault you for that."

A little grin was given to the woman in return. "You know. I missed you. It's difficult to go on without my favorite Russian girl." That French hand touched the woman's. "You look lovely today, Anna. I feel like I don't see you outside enough."

"Artists seldom go outside…That is, unless they paint landscapes." Those knuckles cringed, but nothing was done to throw out the fingers overtaking them. "But I don't paint landscapes. I paint people." Blue eyes met blue eyes. "Why are you kind to me Francis?"

The man looked slightly lost. "What do you mean, Anna?"

"I _mean_ why are you kind to me? I don't understand it."

"Well, I'm kind to you because I love you."

"But _how_ can you love me? _Why?_"

"Oh, Anna. Numerals captured numerals. "We've been over this _so_ many times. I simply adore you. One can't explain emotions like love. If they _could_ be explained, then the sentiment wouldn't mean a damn thing. True love is something profound and strange and inexplicable. It simply _is_."

Anna stared at Francis as that same curve ate away at his expression.

"I was cruel to you."

"I've gotten over that."

"No. I mean-" Poor speechless Anna choked. "I'm still not _kind_ to you. I don't welcome you; I don't ever say hello to you first; I never bring you any gift; I haven't painted you yet. And you keep coming back! You're worse than cancer!" A breath. "I'm not even certain what to say anymore, Francis. Half of me wants to apologize for not sharing your passion and the other half wants to tell you to piss off. And I _am_ sorry, because you're truly not a horrendous person, but-" Puff.

Audible frustration.

"You see, Anna. That's just what I like about you. Every time I come to visit, I'm guaranteed an adventure. But I know I'm making progress. You're trying so hard to be kind. If you truly hated me like you claimed to, such an opportunity wouldn't even be allowed."

"I don't hate you."

"What now?"

"I don't _hate_ you. I don't want to hate anyone anymore."

"That's quite nice to hear."

Anna did not speak.

"Listen, Miss Ivanovna. I'll get you to like me more and more. I promise you that. I'll only need time."

"How much time?"

"As long as it takes. The moment I'm convinced you'll never fall for me, then I'll quit. But I'm confident you'll develop feelings within at least a few months."

"So _you_ get to decide? I don't remember that being a part of the bargain."

"I don't remember it _not_ being a part of the bargain either."

Silence. Anna's legs sunk roughly upon the table's edge. Arms crossed. Brows furrowed.

A heavy, heavy breath.

A breath made of an anvil.

"Don't worry, Anna. In either outcome you won't be damaged in the least."

It was a struggled to omit thoughts. There were far too many involved to claim no one would be harmed. What of Alfred? What of Francis Bonfeuille himself?

The biting and sharp rejection would certainly break him. A porcelain sculpture from a high tower.

Anna did not wish to shatter anything. No statues. No bones. No hearts. No Frenchmen.

"It's not about me, Francis."

"Of course it is, Anna. Don't be so ridiculous."

Another opposition of soft glances. And it was then that the Russian harpy took the man's attractiveness. Francis really _was_ lovely.

Even if he was French as shit.

"You're mad Bonfeuille. You confuse me."

"Whoever said I had to make sense?" The immigrant stood and offered his hand to Anna. "You said you haven't painted me yet. Would you like to?"

Again, a yes and no situation. The woman was split in half between causing happiness and spitting within her fiancé's face. Why was this such a frequent occurrence with this man? He set her on fire only to throw her into ice water.

A glacier colliding with an explosion.

"I suppose I could."

"Oh, thank you. I've only been painted once before and it really is quite an honor."

Nothing was spoken in reply; Anna merely led Francis Bonfeuille back to her room, sitting him within the chair waiting at the foot of her bed.

The Frenchman looked rather comfortable within that spot, eating up the space as though it was made for him; a lion perched upon a mountain. The light in the room even agreed with him; it made the blond hair sparkle and blue eyes glow sapphire.

At least there was an upside to sketching out this man. Anna could stare at him all she liked and rake each one of those features to judgment. She could fill her head with that fuzzy chin and French nose and strange eyes.

Ann felt as though she had to decode this man; Francis Bonfeuille was a safe of absolute secrets and those few numbers were needed to open him up.

But it was not an easy task.

So the artist stood there, sketching out the man before her, possibly staring far too intently.

Her mind wondered at the French mannequin. And it touched all the most inappropriate things.

Anna was curious to see how this man would perform in bed. How he would choose to kiss her and claim her and eat up all of her skin. How he would cause her to become soaked and needy and ready.

Undoubtedly, he knew some tricks.

But even thinking such things made her feel guilty for so many different reasons. She had a fiancé, yet Alfred was frequently invited to her room. She loved her American and had failed to rid herself of this French plague.

She wanted to have sex with two different men.

An off line was drawn and gently erased with frustration.

Actually, Anna wanted to make love with one of them; not merely sex, but true adoration. The other would be taken on a test run. Out of curiosity.

Sex with Francis would be as going to a gown shop with very little money. Certainly Anna would try on the clothing there-merely to see how it fit. But nothing would be purchased or even recalled a few days later.

It was just sex, after all.

Regardless, Francis was becoming more attractive to her. Somehow. It could not be denied that this man was quite handsome, even if Alfred was the better looking of the pair.

Perhaps Anna was mad.

Here was a man most young women would die for. By most anyone's standards, he was incredibly beautiful. Not to mention tolerant, passionate and generous, with all the things he had brought to the former shrew-and yet, Anna could not love him.

The excellent qualities could be acknowledged. They must have been considered all the time. But no grand emotion was struck. No part of her core flew up and began to sing at the sight of this French anomaly. He was not in her mind frequently; in fact Anna practically forgot about Francis the moment he went drifting away. Good-byes were said, and the focus was back to a certain American.

A certain American who _should_ have been an aristocrat. Who should have been wealthy and eligible for a bride.

The entire situation was a tragedy. And if it was not a tragedy, it certainly had the components of one. Some kind of miserable Romeo and Juliet. But even worse, because Anna did not even have the bravery to scream her undying and mad affection from a tower. She did not have the bravery to run away and elope, parents be damned.

She did not have the courage _to die_ for a man.

Yet, Anna was dying. Being in love with one man and being engaged to another was like shoving a sunflower into a basement and expecting it to be joyous; to grow up with a straight stem and blossom.

The entire affair was foolish.

Anna had to stop drawing. Her heart was beginning to panic.

"Are you alright, Miss Ivanovna?"

"No. I feel sick. And it's not because I don't wish to draw you any longer- I really don't feel well." Her stomach began to ache.

"We can always resume the session later, can't we? I'm not going anywhere any time soon, and it's not something that needs to be finished immediately."

A punch to the center.

"I just-I simply need to lie down for a moment. Then I'll be able to resume."

"Well, by all means, Anna. Lie down."

The pencil was placed back at the easel, and Anna allowed her body to the flattened sheets above her mattress. And Francis joined her, taking a spot next to that corpse and wrapping his arms around what parts of her he could.

"Do you mind this?"

"No. It's actually comforting."

Francis said nothing more. Instead, he took to coding his darling's cheek in hot little kisses, each one composed of the contents of his heart.

What truly surprised the woman was the position of the Frenchman's hands. They did not grope for a breast or fall in between her thighs. They merely coiled around her, simply because the man wished to be close.

And Anna turned her head toward Francis as his lips worked, causing her mouth to meet his.

But the kiss was accepted, and not only that, but it deepened. More passion was given; mounds became more furious. Tongues emerged shyly and carefully, twisting together in a slow motion and growing more aggressive as time continued.

Francis was grasping at Anna.

He had wanted to kiss her this way for a very long time. The desire could be felt radiating from the man's pores.

Poor Mr. Bonfeuille had gone and set himself on fire.

It was difficult for either of them to stop.

But somehow, they did.

"Oh, Anna." Just a quick peck to the princess' mouth.

Nothing was said upon the other end. She merely relaxed against her admirer's boy, behemoths in a mix of pleasure and terrible shame.

Francis Bonfeuille went home that day with a sore tongue and the lack of a portrait.


	31. Chapter 31

Anna stood before her unfinished painting of Francis and proceeded to draw the rest of him. It would be easier this way- to simply create her own version of the man-as his head and face were already completed.

Yes, she would have to make up his outfit, but it was nothing the woman hadn't done before. Fictional characters filled her sketchbooks and canvases and occupied the corners of her room from wall to wall.

And as she completed the picture, filling up all the missing details, consideration for all things ate up her mind.

There was Francis and Alfred and the future. They all mixed together in an unpleasant and potent cocktail that the artist would be forced to drink.

But now, something odd was happening.

It was the very first time that driver boy and ridiculous aristocrat were on the same plain. Well-not exactly the same plain, but Francis had certainly wormed his way into Anna' thoughts.

While Alfred was intoxication, Francis was a disease, slowly taking over her cells and making her sicker and sicker as the time passed. So, not only was Anna drunk, but she was ill as well.

The decorations upon Francis' shoulders were drawn into place.

For a moment, Anna wondered how this occurred. She had been single for so many years of her life, and suddenly, not one, but_ two_ men wanted to be at her side. Both were handsome, both were likable. Both sent her into a kind of madness that was horrendously difficult to describe.

Francis' arms came into the picture.

If only things were different. Perhaps Anna should have taken one of her more tolerable fiancés, before she had the chance to go and fall in love with someone society would never allow her to be with.

How awful to imagine life without Alfred. It would have been so much easier, had they never met. Had Anna simply accepted a goddamn man and got the fuck out of here. A distant sigh.

And Anna sketched.

Certainly, seeing Alfred would put her stupid head back together, or perhaps Francis. Or perhaps no one at all. Perhaps Anna simply needed to be alone.

No. She had been alone long enough.

The lonesomeness was becoming a sour curse.

And Anna sketched.

And Anna sighed.

And the time passed away.

When the artist had sketched her handsome Frenchman, and all that lonesome canvas needed were the man's hues, she ran to her father. Her feet took her to the office, where Ivan was certainly contained.

He spent his entire existence inside that room.

One could see Ivan Braginski's life written about the walls. There were the pictures of his wedding day, his wife when she was not old and bitter, his sons. His daughter. Their first days-their first years-and how they appeared in the present. It was all imposed upon a sad kind of wall paper, grey and fading in age.

The entire chamber smelled old.

Anna opened the door and let herself right in.

Ivan looked up. "Hello, Annushka. How are you?"

"I don't feel well."

"Are you sick?"

"Maybe." The girl plopped into the chair before her father, an ancient affair with dust written all about its mahogany limbs.

"Well, what's wrong?" Ivan stopped writing a letter, leaving off after finishing a sentence.

Voice failing like broken clockwork. Why the hell did she even come in here? To spill all her feelings? To tell her father about Alfred and Francis and the sentiment turning her heart into a fire pit?

Of course she did. But there wasn't enough courage for that either.

"Anna, what's wrong?"

"Francis…" Pause. "Francis kissed me."

"How was it? Is he finally growing on you?"

"He _is_ growing on me, Papa. But I still don't love him. I wish-I wish we could simply be friends, because I don't feel the way he does. I've been having a difficult time, coming to terms with all this."

"Well, marriage is a hard thing to swallow, even if you do love the other person. But you don't love Francis." The gigantic man managed to offer the distraught thing a grin. "I think you love someone else."

The shock upon Anna's face gave the man his answer, despite the denial that was certain to come.

"Papa-"

"No, Anna. I've been watching you lately. Your face is constantly pink. You've had this dreamy look in your eyes whenever you're not forced into a conversation. You can deny it, but you've fallen for someone."

Nothing.

"I'm going to assume it's someone you _shouldn't_ feel that way toward. As though this person was ranks below you or someone quite infamous. But I would guess the previous."

Silence. Upon either end.

Ivan, at that point, wished to tell Anna about his love as well. All his affections for a quiet serf named Katya, nearly twenty-three years ago. Now he truly understood it, and how joyful he was that his little daughter had finally caught love within her rough hands. Perhaps not with someone rich or mighty, but still, _someone_.

It was a mix of relief and concern.

But it was alright. Truly.

Because Ivan had felt that love. He had given life to a child out of that love.

And he had given hell to life, because he was too stupid to request a divorce and be earnestly happy.

Katya probably ran away, due to his lack of action.

In the end, Ivan could only blame himself.

Anna tasted his look of sorrow.

"It's alright, Papa. You don't have to be upset. I know how stupid it is-to love someone like a servant. I'm sure I'll get over it, one day." Anna rose. "I suppose I should return to my room. Good-bye."

Ivan could not even ask her to wait, because the girl had been right.

The doors closed loudly.


	32. Chapter 32

Alfred found himself inside Anna's room once more. It was late that night, with a bit of the moon's radiance shining through the window.

He stood a few paces from the door way and regarded Anna, who was occupied upon the bed. She wasn't wearing any clothing, and all her attention seemed to be going to the in between of those long and slender legs.

Still, Alfred couldn't help but glance at the portrait of Francis, fresh upon the easel.

"Oh, Alfie…" Those fingers dipped a little further inside. "Yours is so much better. I only painted that because he asked me to." A heavy look of pleasure ate up the woman's eyes. She was having a difficult time contemplating. "You still have it, don't you?"

"Of course I do, Anna. I hung it up in my room."

"Good." Delicate blue eyes closed.

And Alfred could merely stand there and watch.

There was a bit of anger and flattery and envy all mixing together within his blood. Admittedly, the driver boy could not think straight either. He had feelings of lust and love, with the rest of the grading emotions sprinkled inside the mix.

To add the final touch to that twisting ball of emotion, Alfred _wanted_ this woman; far past foreplay and even further past love-making.

The entire situation brought him upset.

Sometimes, it would be easier not to love Anna.

A pretty little moan from the aristocrat.

And the American began to remove his clothing. The work shirt, the trousers, the undergarments-until they were both naked.

Now, it made absolutely no sense that their bodies were not closer. So Alfred took a few steps forward, and kneeled down before Anna's spreading legs. A few kisses pressed to those inner thighs-a hand settling just before her knee.

The woman stopped playing with herself.

"I missed you, Alfred. It seems like it's been the longest time, even though I know it hasn't."

Alfred simply hummed in agreement.

Then, a pink tongue slid against that clitoris, gently lapping. And Anna took in a breath. Her pretty fingers found places inside the man's blond hair, locks twisting around them as lily white curlers.

"Ah…"

That slippery thing went in a little deeper, eating up the woman's tender opening.

Christ, she was already soaked.

"Alfred…Put your fingers inside of me."

A long lick before those orders were followed. Then, Alfred's numerals slowly pressed themselves into that crevice, sinking in deeply and pulling back out. It seemed amazing to the man how firm he had already become. But perhaps it wasn't so surprising. After all, Anna-to him- had been a border line tease. They would please one another in the worst of ways, but would never truly take that leap.

The desire only continued on like a wild fire. It was never satiated; no. Always, it wanted more. These playful sessions they had together only seemed to feed the frustration; not ease it or even mar it minimally.

"Ah…" Air sucked into Anna's chest. "Alfred…" The grip around the man's scalp grew a little tighter.

The woman was close-Alfred could feel it. And of course she was. Anna pleased herself a least a few minutes before the man even began. That, and she never came to fetch him if she was unwilling.

A few licks to that tiny pearl, while knuckled were buried.

Oh, the poor thing was trying so hard not to scream. After all, getting caught would be disastrous for either of them.

But at that moment, neither seemed to care. For if they did, the entire scene wouldn't be occurring.

A few more laps of the tongue.

"Oh, Alfred…"

Anna was moving her hips with her lover's wonderful digits, wanting them in even deeper, even though that was quite the impossibility.

Oh god, she was so near. Those walls could be felt _pulsing. _

That hand was removed and the mouth was left to do all the work. However, Alfred took either of those thumbs and gently spread those flaps a little wider. The opening was licked from top to bottom, and finally, the woman had her climax.

Alfred could tell because she almost tore his hair out.

"Did you like that?"

"Yes…"

Alfred stood up and joined his woman upon the sheets.

Goddamn, he wanted her.

"Well, look at you." Anna's provocative finger traced over that rock hard member. "Oh, poor Alfred."

"Poor Alfred indeed."

"Let's see if I can help you out. Why don't you sit in my chair?" A playful little squeeze at the head. "Maybe poor Alfred can be happy Alfred."

So the driver boy sat within Anna's chair. The same chair he has sat in numerous times before. And he landed there again.

Now it was Anna's turn, to come between the man's legs.

Her palm began at the base, gently rubbing upward and allotting little kisses to the tip.

"Anna…"

A singular lick.

"I've missed you, Alfred. Truly." Another lap. Another stroke. "You're so lovely."

A little squeeze.

"For the love of God. Anna please-"

Smile. And finally, that cock was emerged between those beautiful lips. Slowly. She drew upon it, as though the damn thing was delicious.

Alfred's mouth opened slightly.

It was time like this that the man couldn't think straight. Anna took all of Alfred's worries onto her tongue. The woman ate them alive. She swallowed them whole and tore them up and turned them to dust. And all the vacuous holes that were left had been replaced with burning flames of ecstasy.

Perhaps it was because he loved her so intensely.

Their short creation of pleasure was amplified by their sick affection.

It seemed sad that neither could admit it. Because each day that passed, the adoration worsened. Like the bite of a brown recluse.

A hard draw upon the head, to bring reality back to perception.

Alfred devoured a sharp breath. "Anna…"

"Hmm…" Anna's tongue slipped over the entire thing.

What a terrible Russian girl he had found.

Anna allowed her hand to work for a moment. "Your legs are shaking."

"I know." Alfred's back arched.

"And you're sweating."

"I know." Breath.

"And I think you're enjoying this."

"You're right."

The woman's mouth became full once more.

"You're worse than opium." Gasp. "I hate your fiancé."

"I hate my fiancé too."

Ah…She was hitting the most sensitive parts with that sinful tongue. Candy must have loved her.

"Anna."

A good few hard pulls were given. Alfred shook in her hand. He was close too.

"Darling, please stop."

"Stop?" A pop as that mouth pulled away. "Why?"

"I want you."

"You do?"

"_Yes._"

"Good. I want you too. Get on the damn bed."

What the fuck do you think Alfred did?

Yeah. He got on the damn bed.

Anna sat on his stomach, hands traveling about his chest. About his neck. About the side of his lovely face. And the in between of her thighs was hot-like a fire. In fact, her entire body was warm.

Alfred's hand smoothed over the woman's legs.

Their most private areas touched-the tip of Alfred's cock lightly kissing to Anna's opening.

Then, the man slipped inside and the woman pressed down.

Either moaned.

Gorgeous fingers wrapped around a tanned collar bone-as though it was a handle bar. And hips began to move up and down. And that member slipped in and out.

Oh, they had wanted this so long. Either of them. Bodies were drenched in wicked pleasure as toughs of blond touched to toughs of blond. Backs arched. Skin was gripped. Bottom lips dropped and hung open.

Cries were exposed to the air.

The bed creaked.

"Ah…Alfred." Those hips moved downwards.

The pair felt whole. Anna was complete. Blood became liquid satisfaction and hearts lit up the entire goddamn room. Fireworks eating up all four corners. Love eating away the entirety of their minds.

Reality was shot in the face.

Anna sank while Alfred rose. And they left indents upon one another's forms. The woman's shoulders. The man's shoulders. The woman's hips. The man's neck.

Their sex was violent and passionate and full of the desires with had buried for so long.

Either of those ludicrous bodies was white-hot and swimming in sweat.

"Ah-Alfred!"

"Anna!"

And as souls tied together, the climaxes were reached. Alfred finished first. Then Anna. Then they came to collapse.

They lied next to one another.

"I love you, Alfred."

"I love you too, Anna."

Nude bodies wrapping together. Two strings to a tight knot.

"I love you, Anna."

"I love you too, Alfred."

Kiss.

"I love you, Alfred."

"I love you too, Anna."

Then, they went to sleep. Eye lashes intertwined.


	33. Chapter 33

Time passed. Months progressed and the tension sat about Anna's shoulders as a cruel anvil. All the symptoms of her virus had become worse. Near obsession poured from her heart for the American, and horrendous guilt was a blood-borne illness for that Francis.

They tore her in half. Alfred took her right hand. Francis took her left hand and they ran with the strength of horses.

There were times that Anna spent her evenings alone weeping. She did not wish to be a traitor-not to that goddamn Frenchman of her darling driver boy.

As much as she hated to admit, Francis was becoming quite a good companion. He had grown on Anna. Yes, the former shrew truly _liked_ Monsieur Bonfeuille. But there was no intense passion for him as there was for Alfred. There was no terrifying captivation. When the man came around, her heart did not accelerate. Her face did not dye itself a shade deeper. Her eyes did not brighten to the point of shining gems.

The fact was, the adoration did not exist. It was not there.

And Anna felt terrible.

There was no reason for her to feel _good_.

As all of that turmoil occurred, another cluster fuck was boiling upon the other half of Anna's life. The wedding drew nearer and nearer and nearer. Until everyone in the household had the event breathing down their necks.

It was a flurry of plans and invitations and questions and letters, from all ends of either family. Letters from Russia. Letters from Austria. Congratulations! I'm sorry I can't make it!

Gifts, entire closets devoted to gifts.

Cooking spoons, expensive fabric, dishes, utensils, bedspreads, perfumes, colognes, money. Money everywhere. Money given to Ivan. Money sent to Roderich.

The entire affair was mad.

In fact, both Ellis and Andrei admitted how foolish they were for planning the day so near to their engagement. But they didn't know any better. They did not know what it took to plan a wedding.

Priests were called upon. Florists were called upon. Dress makers, bakers, decorators.

The couple was just about ready to tear their hair out and Anna was crammed in the center of this mess.

Whenever Ellis was upset, she would come right to her sister-in-law, to complain, to discuss an idea, or to avoid the wedding completely. Because there was only so much a woman could handle.

But no matter what they were discussing, the two grew nearer. For the first time in Anna's life, she had a true female friend. And not only was Ellis her darling companion-but she was also a part of her broken little family.

It was probably the very first time that Anna was truly happy. She had companions that were near and dear to her. She had a lovely sister. And her mother finally seemed to leave her alone, with things going 'well' with Bonfeuille.

However, all of these hidden problems-these secrets-would eventually have to come to a head.

No good things last forever.

In fact, _nothing_ lasts forever.


	34. Chapter 34

Ellis stood at the doorway of Anna's room, fingers lightly drumming on the frame and lips curled into something troubled.

Anna was painting, as she always did.

"Hello…"

"Hello, Anna. Do you have a dress picked out for the wedding?"

"Well, I have lots of dresses I can wear. Why?"

"I was just hoping we could go out together-into town maybe. If you wanted to purchase another one-perhaps."

"Ellis, what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. I simply want to spend time with you." Short black hair was brushed behind a pale ear.

"We can spend time together without purchasing a dress." Anna placed her brush within the easel's holder. "Allow me to clean up."

"Alright."

As the brushes were cleaned and the paints were organized, Ellis sat within her sister-in-law's chair, picking at her bottom lip and cleaning her nails.

Anna paid attention to this, but did not say anything of it. She had asked once already. Prying did not seem to be the greatest solution, even though the woman was certain she would find out eventually.

And they left together, the tension of silence acting as a grand wall between them.

Ellis was certainly a barrier.

"I won't judge you, whatever it is that's bothering you. I've no place to do so, Ellis. You've seen what a wreck my life can be."

Anna wondered how awful this dilemma truly was.

"It's nothing really-" A gulp. "Andrei and I got into a fight."

"Was it about something truly important?"

"No, not really. I think I just…I think I stress him out sometimes. We just started yelling at one another-about something stupid. I was so frustrated at the time I don't even remember what it was."

"Well, maybe you two merely need to spend a few hours apart."

"It's really not just the argument that's bothering me." Ellis regarded the sky, a partially cloudy mess with a bright sun gleaming behind it. "This commitment is frightening. It's simply such a profound thing to accept-to look at a man and say to yourself 'we'll be spending the rest of our lives together.' Every day. Every night. All of it. And I love Andrei to death, I truly do. But- it's just so much swallow. I have to wonder, is loving him _enough?_ Can love alone make a decent place to live-to raise children and keep it all together? I think I'm finally starting to realize that marriage isn't _just_ love. It's an enormous responsibility. And I don't know if I'm good enough-to make the entire thing work."

The woman took a breath.

"And you stack the wedding on top of it, and all the stress that comes with it. I haven't stopped thinking about it since I've arrived here. Not to mention, my parents are coming…They're wonderful people, but my father is so critical and my mother is just…She's so strange, Anna." Ellis' French was beginning to break-her German accent giving a twang to every single word. So, the little Austrian did not speak anymore. Her gorgeous emerald eyes merely boiled.

"Well, I'm certain Andrei feels the same. And what do you think he went through, worrying about _my_ parents? Even if your father _is_ critical, he's probably not nearly as bad as my mother. But you still accept Ivan and Natasha, just as everyone will accept your parents."

Ellis wiped her eyes.

"And marriage can't be so hard. Just look at my mother and father. They hate each other but they still made it work…to a degree. So just think of how happy you'll be, since you both love one another."

A gasp from the smaller.

"You need a break, Ellis. Relax."

The Austrian nodded. "You're right. I've been trying too hard."

It was at that point that Anna realized that Ellis was _not_ perfect. No, no. Not even _close_. This kind woman was trying so hard to give herself an air of calm and unfettered kindness. But Ellis was human. She fought with her fiancé. She experienced terrible stress. And she too dealt with a cruel and kind parent. No, perhaps Roderich was not as horrible as Natasha. Accomplishing that feat was quite a challenge. But he _wanted_ his daughter to be lady-like and dainty and well…_perfect_.

Anna could see him, harshly correcting off notes at the piano. Fixing her dress if it was out of place. Chastising her for being a child and coming in with mud upon her blouse. Telling her the _correct_ way to eat with silverware. Demanding that she work harder-study harder-_try harder_.

That was why she _appeared_ so perfect. One false move was stepping in broken glass with a bare foot.

But Ellis Edelstein was not without fault.

No. No.

And suddenly, the cutting of her glorious hair made all the sense in the world.

Ellis wanted desperately to be like Anna.

Just like Anna wanted desperately to be like Ellis.

The tall woman laughed.

"What's so funny, Anna?"

"You want to be like me, don't you?"

Those brows dropped deeply, but Ellis did not output words at first. "I simply…I simply love how you don't care. I wish I had your freedom-to wear trousers and suspenders and tell your mother she's wrong. You don't care if people look at you strangely. And you don't care if your hair is short, or if your make-up is slightly off…It took everything I had-everything-to have my hair this way. I even wept after I did it, but I _so_ wanted to prove to myself that I _could_ do it- That I could say, 'Forget conventional! This is what _I_ want!' That I could laugh at my father when he told me my hair was too short-that I looked like a young man. That I could tell him _for once_ that he was mistaken." Ellis battled the lump within her throat. "I'd give anything for your strength, Anna. I'd give anything to be beaten and still be strong the next day, and the day after that, and even look the people who had done it and nearly spit in their faces."

"Have you ever been beaten, Ellis?"

Gasp. And those beautiful hands covered that mouth, while eyes squeezed shut. "You can't-You can't even imagine it."

"Oh, Ellis." Anna stopped and embraced her darling sister-in-law, hands eating up her shoulder blades and chin resting upon her lovely crown of deep ebony. And the poor doll sobbed into Anna's buttons. Her colors and her powder certainly leaving a stain upon them, but the Russian woman did not give a damn.

"I love you."

And the miserable thing cried even harder.

Finally, when Ellis calmed, they continued walking, hand inside hand.

"I love you too, Anna. But I can't tell you how much I hate you."

Anna beamed. "I hate you too, Ellis." She kissed her sister's cheek. "Oh, God. How I hate you."

And eventually, the two went back to their respective heavens and their respective hells. Either felt entire worlds better.


	35. Chapter 35

A few days passed, and Ellis began to feel better. She and Andrei made up and more plans were made.

The entire family stood within the ball room-where the reception would be- discussing details of the decorations. Francis was there as well, standing within the corner with Anna. Either was smoking cigarettes.

Francis kissed her cheek.

"How have you been, Annushka?"

"I've been fine." Escaping grey cloud from the woman's lungs. "I feel normal. How about you?"

"I've missed you. It seems like it's been a long time since we've spoken last. You look very nice today."

"No, I don't." Anna's palm touched Francis' chin. "You're being ridiculous." Grin. "You haven't trimmed your beard in a while."

"I know. I need to. But I've been running around a lot lately, on business. Which is why I haven't been able to come and visit. Have you missed me?"

"Well, maybe. I don't mind seeing you."

The Frenchman flashed a smile. "Oh, Anna. You don't even mind me anymore. I'm close aren't I? If you start to miss me, can we wed?"

"But Francis, I _don't_ miss you. I like you, but I don't _miss_ you."

"Would you miss me if I had gone away a long time?"

"How long?"

"A few months."

"Well, I might miss you a little bit. It would be odd, not seeing you for so long. It would make me uneasy. I'll say that much."

"Then I better be punctual. I wouldn't want to make you unwell." A smooch for that high cheekbone. Then, and embrace.

Anna did not so much mind the man's affection. Actually, that could very well be an understatement. The woman found him attractive. No, she was not mad for him. And no, he was certainly not Alfred. But he _was_ handsome.

Anna almost wanted to see him nude.

Almost.

In fact, a bit of casual sex with this French bastard wouldn't even be so bad.

Their lips touched.

And Anna caught her father, looking at them from across the room. His mouth was a scrunched up; the man was concerned of his daughter's happiness.

Ivan had been watching that girl of his ever since the truth was told. He wanted to know who this servant of his was-who Anna loved. Who loved Anna.

It troubled him deeply but the truth was kept locked within his mouth. Ivan wouldn't tell anyone. Not his sons. Not Ellis. Not Natasha. Doing so would only make that lovely young woman miserable. Her mother could certainly be ruthless.

And he desperately wanted to tell her the actuality of her origins.

But it felt as though it was too damn late.

He should have told her sooner.

Ivan kicked himself hard in the stomach.

"They're sweet together, aren't they?" Natasha's voice sat within the man's ear. "I've finally found someone your daughter can tolerate. Can you believe it?"

"No, Natasha. I can't. And I still don't."

"Well, we'll see." And the wife went away, to continue speaking with the bride and the groom.

The father did the same.

"Anna, why don't we join the party? I'm sure they could use some help."

"Oh, Francis. They don't need help. How the hell are we supposed help anyway? I don't know the first thing about a wedding." The cigarette was extinguished on the window sill. "Look, they're all having a great time."

"Then let's go have a great time with them."

"Нет."

"No?"

"You can go if you want to." The glass was pulled open, all the way. "I'm going outside."

A leg went out the window.

"Why are you going outside?"

Another leg. "I don't want to be inside."

"But Anna, come back."

"No, that's quite alright." Her hips made their way through, that body bending oddly to get out. "Come with me."

"Out the window?"

"How else, you lunatic?" Her head made it through. Her arms.

"Well, you could always use a _door_."

"That's boring."

"But Anna-"

"_But Anna-_" Francis' accent was imitated. "Are you coming?"

The Frenchman regarded the rest of the Braginski family, who had not noticed Anna's escape attempt. So his leg escaped through the gaping hole. Then the next one.

He landed on the grass a few moments later.

"Was that so hard?"

"No. It wasn't." The man stood up and took his fiancé's hand.

And they ran away, to where the large and happy tree sat, in the center of a joyous and green back yard.

Francis was not certain why they were jogging away, or why his dear Anna had to jump from a window. And why did he come with her?

The man almost felt as though he too would receive a scolding from Natasha for enabling this foolish behavior. She would say, 'What are you doing, encouraging her? Don't you realize what you've done?'

But somehow, he wasn't so worried. After all, what was there to be concerned about? Miss Ivanovna seemed to be mad. This was not unusual by any means. In fact, it was surprising she didn't jump from windows more often.

The two landed at the roots of an oak tree.

The sitting and relaxing commenced.

Neither said anything to one another. It was a surreal sort of moment when nothing really needed to be said. No forced small talk of how lovely the weather was. No forced compliments of garments of clothing or hair, or shoes, or anything. No overbearing concerns of life. Just peace.

And it was truly times like this when Anna wished desperately that Francis could merely be her friend and nothing more. And also that Alfred could be so much _more_ than just a companion.

They needed to switch places. Because Francis was an excellent companion and Alfred was an excellent lover.

A sigh.

The entire thing was utterly wrong.

But Anna, despite the hurricane within her head, tried to relax against the bark of the tree. She tried to choke down the fact that Francis would not let her hand free, and the fact that she could not destroy her heart, even though it was not desired.

Anna's core sunk into dilemma.

And she allowed it free by resting her cheek against Bonfeuille's shoulder.

"It's nice, isn't it?" Soft French words.

"Yes. I suppose it is." Soft Russian words.

I wished I loved you, Bonfeuille. Really. Any other woman would be mad about you. But I'm nothing _but_ mad.

There's something wrong in my mind. I know there is.

"_Je t'aime_, Anna."

The poor girl could say nothing back. But that was never a surprise. Nothing was ever said back. It was uneven adoration and either of them knew it.

But Francis would keep trying.

Forever and ever. On and on.

The two remained beneath the oak tree until Ellis came outside and told them to get something to eat.

And they did.


	36. Chapter 36

Anna, as was entirely usual, sat within her room, having just finished another painting. Something within that lovely face was conflicted. It was the same conflict she always struggled with.

And it was getting old.

In fact, Anna looked as though she had just finished crying. A grand passion had come over her as that brush filled in hues and shades. That poor core began to sing, and the notes were simply too sad.

Then, the door opened.

And Natasha came in.

"Hello, Anna. It's good to see you're not smoking."

The opposite said nothing. Those worn blue windows simply lifted from the carpet, to her mother's visage.

"Oh, well what's wrong with you?"

"Nothing. Why did you come in here, mother?"

The elder's brows seemed to drop slightly, lips curling into something somewhat dissatisfied. However, no words were given in opposition. Natasha simply went on with business. "I came to talk to you about your wedding."

"_My_ wedding?"

"Yes. It seems to me that you and Francis get along rather well."

"We do get along well."

"So, you're both going to get married then, aren't you? You haven't driven this one away, and either of you make a nice couple."

Nothing.

"It's been a few months, hasn't it? You've gotten to know one another."

Nothing .

"Damn it, child! What's the matter?"

"I don't love him…I like him and he's a wonderful friend. But I simply haven't fallen in love."

Natasha laughed. "Do you honestly think marriage is about love? When I married your father, I hardly knew the man. Sometimes _liking_ one another is all you can ask for. It's certainly better than hating one another. Besides, can't you see it, Anna? You two can set up a lovely family together-with little children and your own house full of those paintings-"

Anna leaned further back into her chair.

And she thought.

Tiny French Children with golden blond hair. A gorgeous house brimming with all her artwork. A life devoid of Natasha. A life devoid of any more fiancés.

A life devoid of Alfred.

That one fucking hurt.

A hard breath. A horrendous choke.

The worst part was that Natasha was right.

"Did you and father like one another?"

"Yes. We did like one another."

"Then what the hell happened? There's no love left in this place. You can't fool me into thinking you two actually have any affection left for one another. I can see the neutrality radiating off of you. You're here. And father's here. But neither of you are here together. You do your respective jobs separately. An only mother and an only father living beneath a single roof. _Like_ doesn't last for twenty years. It doesn't last for ten. I'm certain it can hardly last for five." A difficult choke.

Natasha merely watched her daughter.

"I want a marriage like Andrei and Ellis will have. I can't imagine them _not_ loving one another. But I won't have that with Francis. I know I won't."

The poor Russian girl was beginning to break down.

The mother sighed.

"Anna, _can_ you love anyone? We've introduced you to so many men, and you've managed to drive them all away. You did that on purpose. Frankly, you're getting far too old to wait another six years for someone you genuinely love to come along. All of your time has been wasted on painting. It's been wasted on brushes and colors and canvases. You weren't interested in _love_, or men, or finding someone to spend the rest of your life with. If anything, this is your own fault. And you're going to tell me that you don't want to marry a beautiful rich man that you genuinely like because you just can't be _madly in love?_"

Anna was beginning to weep. So Natasha's tone merely became louder.

"No spouses love one another after a long enough time. You marry because it's _normal._ Because everyone is meant to have a family. It's how society progresses! And it's time that you moved on from being a little girl. You're a grown woman, Anna. Leave your father's home and make your own life."

An unsettling pause.

"I'm certain you can still become pregnant, Anna. Let's just hope it's not too late; you're going to get married soon after Andrei. And you're going to marry Francis Bonfeuille."

Tears.

"I suggest you begin wearing more gowns. You can't be a mother in trousers."

The door shut behind the cruel woman. And Anna broke into misery.

Never before had she felt so hopeless.

And never had Natasha been so right.

That was part of the problem.

Poor Miss Ivanovna was shoved into a corner. The entire world was staring at her. The sights of her relentless family. The eyes of Francis. The star of her beautiful Alfred.

Yes. She would have to choose.

And the most logical choice was the Frenchman, who she could simply not bring herself to love.

It was horrendous to imagine being in that position. Being a wife, wearing a gown, giving birth to little French infants, with their father's face and their mother's terribly sharp eyes. It was even more difficult to admit that those children would be absolutely lovely.

How stupid she was.

How incredibly stupid she was.

Anna did not leave that room for the rest of the day.


	37. Chapter 37

After her conversation with Natasha, Anna fell into a wretched depression. Her life had been sucked away, and the sweetening shrew had become a statue of stone. Anna remained where she was placed; she observed with no comment.

Her family regarded her with a kind of sadness, Ellis especially. They witnessed her death. Hell, Natasha even caused it. But it was bound to happen.

Anna couldn't marry Alfred.

Anna couldn't marry Alfred.

_Anna couldn't marry Alfred. _

One morning, she sat at the breakfast table, with tears falling silently down her face. Her lashes would bundle together. And her lips would fold. But no sound was made.

Her father noticed.

And before anything could be done, Anna left the room.

It went on for a week, and Alfred came to see her. Of course, it was late at night and the man found a place within the poor thing's chamber.

His voice rang out amongst the darkness.

"Anna, are you in here?"

"Yes, Alfred. I'm here."

"Well, where have you been? I've missed you." The American came closer, sitting upon the edge of that ruined mattress. "Are you alright?"

"No…I'm not." Anna turned to look at her lover within the darkness. "Alfred, why can't you be an aristocrat?"

"Well…" Gentle fingers brushed past the frame of her face. "I never finished college. I was never born into a wonderfully wealthy family. I'm working class, darling."

"But I love you."

A little smile upon that handsome mouth. "All the love in the world can't change my bloodline." Alfred lowered himself into the ruined sheets and wrapped those tired arms around his darling. "But there's not a damn thing that can be done. So, why don't you tell me what's wrong, Annushka?"

The woman was on the edge of sobbing, and the verge of misery. But somehow, the strength was mustered to speak. "I-" Gasp. "I love you, Alfred." A clutch at breath. "I'm coming to the conclusion that-that I'm going to marry Francis Bonfeuille and there's nothing I can do." Mounds went through seizure, grand fits of shaking. "And I could almost accept that, but there's you-"

Then, the open weeping.

Alfred did not say a word. He merely held her.

"I can't even describe-How much I love you. You're constantly on my mind. You're my greatest friend and the only man I've ever adored. Even considering living a life belonging to another-it just-it just feels like suicide."

"Anna…"

"I want to be _your_ wife. And I want to have _your_ children. And I want to care for you and love you openly, without having to hide during the night. But I can't. There's no way around the fact that my parents would never allow it…That what we've been doing here is simply wrong."

Poor Anna could not omit phrase any longer. The only sound from her throat was that horrendous cry.

Alfred couldn't admit that his love was correct.

It was almost as though the hammer of reality had struck him over the head. He would not be able to stay with Anna Ivanovna. It would never be allowed. Not by society. Not by the woman's wretched mother and father, who always seemed to make her so unhappy. Not by anyone at all.

There was nothing that could be done.

Alfred wondered why he had become so attached. Was this not obvious? How stupid- to only realize the truth when it was leaking from his lover's face. He should have seen it long before hand. Now, it felt as though he was too damn late.

"Maybe I should disappear, Anna."

"I couldn't bare that."

"I know." He kissed her cheek. "Why did you even bother with me? You knew from the beginning that…" The statement could not possibly be completed.

"No- I was so certain I could get rid of him. Really. No other fiancé of mine had stayed this long. They all left months before he did." And for a moment, Anna thought of their compromise. That Francis wouldn't marry her if they were not in love. But it wasn't about Francis. It wasn't even about Anna. This whole mess was about Natasha. If Natasha wanted Anna to marry, then Anna wouldn't have a choice. And Francis certainly wouldn't call off the entire affair. He was _happy_.

The girl had reached the end of the line. Now, it was marry Bonfeuille or no one at all.

Did she even want to be wed?

Anna's poor mind did not even know what it wanted any longer.

So Anna continued to weep.

And Alfred stayed by her side, soaking her up in warmth and kisses and the deep red love he held within his chest.

They remained. In the anger and adoration and boiling frustration. In the hate and coiling sadness.

Then, after about an hour or so, Alfred kissed Anna good-bye. "I'm not going to come and see you any more, Miss Ivanovna. Please don't invite me here again." Kiss. "I'm sorry, but it simply feels unwise to have this on-going…you're right. We're both in a situation we can do nothing about, so why continue to make the problem worse? You should forget about me."

I can't forget about you, you moron. Don't you understand how much I adore you? _We've been through this_. It's almost as though you're asking me to do a simple chore. Like organize my room or read a chapter of a novel. Or paint a portrait.

I can't drop you that easily! I feel like smacking you for even suggesting it!

"Alright…Just go."

Anna wore heart break as she wore flesh.

Alfred gave her another touch good-bye. "I love you, Anna. It would be easier if I didn't, but I really do." The misery could be heard bubbling within his voice as well. "Good-bye."

"_Just get out. Go_."

So Alfred left, the room heavy, bearing down upon Anna's brittle bones. She wept. And she wept. And she wept. Partly in disbelief and all in that gut-wrenching sorrow. A great pall had been cast above her, and the young woman could not see through it or even reach out and throw it from her.

No.

Anna was too much of a corpse. All of her nearest acquaintances had killed her. Francis Bonfeuille. Alfred. And of course, Natasha. Natasha was always involved. Natasha always held a knife.

Perhaps she would be resurrected as a true woman, having gone through her first heart break. Perhaps this was merely part of growing up, something she had refused to do for twenty-two years.

But Anna couldn't be sure.

All she knew was that everything fucking hurt.

Those sore and swollen eyes finally closed around three o'clock in the morning.

They wouldn't reopen for quite a while.


	38. Chapter 38

Anna hadn't moved for an entire day. No one had really noticed her missing; this sort of antic was hardly uncommon for her. There were times when that mad woman would lock herself away-two days at a time-simply painting. Committing herself solely to art and going into a strange state of stubborn nirvana.

But this was not the case.

This time, Miss Ivanovna was genuinely miserable.

So Francis Bonfeuille came to visit, to make sure that everything was alight; something deep within his stomach told him it was not.

The porthole to Anna's bedroom creaked open, and the Frenchman came inside, sitting at the edge of that ruined mattress and regarding the broken woman that lied inside it.

"Hello, Anna."

"Hello." Her voice was off from so many hours of silence. Those filmy blue eyes blinked a few times.

"Can I lie next to you?"

"Yes, you can."

The man lowered himself into that violent ocean of sheets and wrapped his arms around the woman in question, thoughts of Alfred brought back to stab her directly in the heart.

"You're upset about something, aren't you? I can tell that you've been crying."

There was no answer upon the other side. Only a wretched silence. Would she be forced to admit the truth-allow her fiancé to know all about the driver boy and her entire resistance to be wed? After all the terrible things Anna had done to this man already-and all the kind things he had done for her…

Anna did what Anna had been doing.

She began to weep.

"Oh, Darling. I didn't mean to make you upset. I'm sorry." His lips pressed to the side of her cheek.

"No-it's not you Francis." Those sobs were choked back, tears made to go in reverse, before Anna ran out of them. "My mother told me I was going to marry you…I just-I'm not even sure I'm ready. It's horrifying." But Anna could say no more. She didn't wish to stomp upon his heart-tell him there was no love for the man-tell him there was some else-someone better. Besides, she was not telling a lie. What she said was indeed the truth. Just not _all _of the truth.

"Well, Anna. _You're_ the one who decides whether or not we marry. I'm simply here, hoping I can convince you to love me. But if you don't and you can't, then I couldn't force you into a marriage. I adore you, but I also adore you enough to give you a choice. I want you to be happy in the end. Even if that involves me staying out of your life."

The woman only began crying more. Alfred had ripped out half of her core and Francis just ripped out the other half.

"Why can't you hate me?" Fluid emotion was wiped away madly. "You make me feel terrible-for even being a little cruel to you. It would all be so much easier, if you could detest me. Stop being so kind. I don't deserve you."

"Oh, Anna. You're breaking my heart. I can't detest you. Asking me to detest you is like-it's like asking me to stop breathing. It's impossible." Francis pulled his darling a little closer. "I really hate to see you this way. Is there anything I can do?"

"Stop being such a gentleman, you French bastard! Can't you be harsh? You being this way-you're making me feel like a burden."

"You're not a burden; I honestly can't expect you to be happy all the time. It's not realistic. You're going to have days when you're upset, and crying and lying in bed like a corpse. Asking you to simply snap out of it is asking too much."

Then, Anna turned around and kissed Francis. She kissed Francis to shut him up. She kissed Francis because he caused her heart to swell. She kissed Francis because she genuinely wanted to love him.

And she _did_ love him. But she loved him in a way that two friends would love one another. She loved him in the way that a little girl loved a porcelain doll. Francis was admired for his beauty and kindness. But it was not something Anna could possibly relate to.

He wasn't like Alfred-who worked up a sweat and couldn't manage to finish school. Who spent an entire life working and managed to be happy through it. It must have been difficult for the driver boy. There was no way he lived in anything but poverty.

Perhaps that's why Anna loved Alfred so passionately. He was not perfect. He was not rich. The world gave him problems and those problems were dealt with. Just like the world offered _her_ problems.

They could understand one another.

But Anna did not comprehend Francis Bonfeuille. He was a lily white figurine while she was a bruised rag doll.

How could she avoid feeling as a burden?

That was just it. She couldn't.

The kiss broke apart, and the woman rested within her fiancé's arms.

"Francis…I want you."

There was no reply at first.

"I want you."

"Well…I want you too, Anna. But are you certain? I don't want to take advantage of you."

"How are you taking advantage when I'm giving you an invitation?"

"You're upset." Kiss. "You might regret it."

"I might regret holding back as well." The woman finally seemed to calm. The thought of distraction pleased her. It took her mind away from the missing piece of her shattered heart.

It really fucking hurt.

Really.

Francis dropped his brows and Anna began to unbutton his blouse. Then, a French sigh and a French kiss. He had given in, which was good, because Anna did not have to fight; she doubted she could. It was far too difficult to argue in this state. It was like swallowing needles or holding a flame. It all hurt. Especially when the Russian's flesh had been peeled away and all she was left with were raw nerves and sharp agony.

So she allowed her tongue to wrestle with Francis', tugging insistently at his hair and clothes and flesh, wanting to eat the man whole in her cannibalistic lust.

It made her mind blank.

She _needed_ this.

The man's shirt fell upon the floor, then his trousers, then those fine undergarments-leaving him completely nude. Yes. It was just as Anna suspected. He was gorgeous naked as well.

Never had there been a woman so lucky and unlucky.

Their mouths argued again while Anna's palm headed straight for those thighs, playing gently with her lover's pair while he worked with her mess of buttons. They were all unfastened, and the fabric was yanked away in a sort of desperation.

Then her trousers. Then her undergarments.

All while Anna played horrendous games with that member.

Part of her couldn't believe this was occurring-all of it. The nudity of Monsieur Bonfeuille. The absence of Alfred. The breath pumping in and out of her lungs. It all seemed entirely unreal.

But that didn't hold a lick of pertinence.

Anna was too busy being lifted onto her fiancé's lap- having those aristocratic hands draw little lines about her hips and lower back. Their tongues still fought heavily with one another, pushing and curling together and making plenty of bruises.

And after a few seconds, Francis' curious touch finally made its way to Anna's bare chest, fingers pulling on hardening blossoms, with rolling thumbs and loving caresses.

Anna stopped her busy hand and allowed the Frenchman to smooth over her body, to play with those little breasts and draw upon her neck with those warm lips. It was enjoyable.

Anna even rose up a bit, to allow that curious hand between her legs. And blades swept past that inner pink, collecting a bit of moisture about them before pushing themselves inside.

And the woman cried out in pleasure, gripping the man's blond hair with a careful hold. After all, she did not wish to harm him. She only wanted to fuck him.

His thumb began to rub her clitoris.

"Hmm…You like this, don't you Anna?"

"Yes. I do…"

"Good." That warm orifice secured a nipple and began to suck.

"Ah-"

It went on, those loving fingers slipping in and out of that cavern, thumb messaging circles into Anna's willing little bud-small bites to hardening nubs. Anna moaned softly as Francis preformed his awful tricks. That was another thing guessed correctly. Bonfeuille was quite skilled in bed.

Then, it all stopped. Hands were removed to come into an embrace and lips formed kisses, in between breasts.

"Francis, go sit in my chair."

"Whatever you like, Anna."

So Francis landed within that lonesome seat and the princess landed before him, upon her knees. At first, just a little tease. Her mouth pressed to either of those pale thighs while one of those palms moved its way closer. Anna took hold of that member, pulling upwards upon it and offering Francis a bit of pleasure.

It was obvious that she had done this before. There was quite a bit of skill inside that wrist and quite a bit of desire as well. Anna truly did want the man. She could feel it in the way she tugged on his cock-by the way her free hand rubbed against his thighs. By the way his head was submerged within her mouth.

Oh goodness. That wonderful tongue was so warm and moist, It did not take that hot blood long to begin flowing. Between the happy vacuum poised at the tip and the working hand made at the shaft, Francis Bonfeuille was hopeless.

He leaned his head back.

He moaned.

It drove him mad as her careful tongue licked that member from bottom to top. It drove him mad as that grip moved a bit faster-tugged even harder. Hell. Anna just drove him mad.

After a few minutes, Francis could handle no more.

"I want you, Anna. Please."

So, without words, the artist sat upon the edge of her bed, widening her legs and rubbing between them, in patience of her all too welcome guest. He took possession of her hips, pulling her figure even closer.

And Anna went right along with it. Her knees held the man in place while the tip of his readied manhood gently pushed inside that soaking wet opening. The woman's figure was held almost aggressively as hips began to thrust in and out.

"Francis…"

The sensation…Every last one of Anna's nerves was set to flame. Every fragment of her was on fire. And she loved it, this pleasure. This sensation from all the shooting pain and rotten days.

Francis did not hold back either. He clutched her hips and legs and bottom, yanking her in nearer as each push was made. He traveled deeply into her, to take in passion, to move slowly.

No, no. The Frenchman was pounding. Plunging that member in deeply and pulling it out roughly.

Anna could tell that this was something her lover had wanted a very long time. There was no restraint or control to those wild thrusts. There was no ugly romance here.

There was only unfettered need and drowning desire.

And goddamn, it felt good.

"Ah! Francis! Harder!"

So the Frenchman pumped even faster, causing their bodies to crash together in a violent array. Anna was forced backward into the marred cotton while her anatomy was stolen.

But the woman was practically screaming. Every nerve was soaking in ecstasy. Her back arched. Her legs tightened around the man on top of her.

"Oh god! _Francis!_"

"Ah-!"

Then, with three slow motions of the hips, it was done. And Francis collapsed next to Anna, taking her into an embrace. Their lips connected, and breath was caught.

"Thank you, Anna."

"Of course…Thank you."

After clothes occupied bodies, Anna and Francis lied down together, going to sleep. The passion had robbed them of energy.

The saddened creature even managed to feel slightly better.


	39. Chapter 39

Time passed, and the wedding came roaring into the picture. The weeks slipped away, between the wretched depression and plans, between miserable glances to gone lovers and new lovers. Between long days and short days.

Then, it sat at Sunday. And Anna stared at it, with melancholy spattered about her face. She stared blankly at everything. At people. At windows. At Paintings.

They picked out her dress and they curled her short hair, as a test run. And she looked beautiful, but oh, so sad.

In short, Miss Ivanovna was broken.

Everyone picked up on it as well. They saw their daughter, their sister, their _friend_. They saw her as she sat there, staring into open space, ruined lips gaping. Anna has started to pick at them terribly; the skin was peeled until little pools of blood developed all around her mouth.

Her eyes began to droop as well.

She looked sick.

And they worried about her- her peers. Ivan and Dmitri and Andrei and Ellis. Hell, even Natasha wondered what she had done. And Alfred-Oh, poor Alfred. He worried the most.

He watched from afar, viewing the rose he had left to wilt. Her happy red faded into sick pink and her petals shriveled up and fell away. The woman's body desecrated. It sat beneath the sun and burst.

Into ashes.

Watching as that young woman fell apart drove the American mad. An incredible upset became him. A frustrated agitation, because he could do nothing. At one moment, their separation had seemed to be the most moral choice, but now- now that he was forced to watch her die slowly…

Anna wasn't even human any longer.

She may have been breathing, but she certainly wasn't living. Breathing isn't happiness. Breathing isn't joy. Breathing is only breathing.

And that was all Alfred had left her.

He wept for her. Because Alfred _did_ love her. And he missed her. And he was sorry.

But there was nothing anyone could do. Not Anna. Not Alfred. Not Anyone.

So time marched forward, and eventually, the wedding came, staring all of them directly in the eyes. It made Anna's stomach hurt. But no one could possibly tell.


	40. Chapter 40

Sunday came, and Ellis was beautiful. She and Andrei stood across from one another and said their vows. They kissed and all the attention hooked to the bride. She looked so lovely inside that grand mess of white, her wonderful emerald eyes gleaming full of tears of joy and excitement and euphoria. All her attention was on Andrei and all of Andrei's attention was on Ellis.

Her parents sat within the very first row of seats, having arrived only a few days prior. Elizaveta was crying and Roderich held her hand in comfort. Anna had been right. The pair was absolutely stunning. The mother- who had given Ellis her vibrant eyes, wore a fine green gown that only made her long golden-brown hair glisten. Her father- who had such a fair complexion and hair black as night. Roderich was a beautiful man, with his sharp spectacles and hot sapphire gems.

It occurred to Anna how much Ellis truly looked like him.

They stood up and clapped as Andrei carried that little woman into the grand building, kissing her the entire way through. And they followed, heading right toward the reception. After all, that's what they had all come for.

Anna tried so hard to swallow her heart ache. But she only found herself to be choking on glass. Her eyes stung. It felt like someone had thrown salt at her.

Then there was the party, where the woman stuffed herself into a corner while everyone began to laugh and dance. Ellis sifted through the crowd, collecting compliments with Andrei attached to her dainty fingers. They said their thanks, and they moved along to the next person who had traveled quite a long way to see this wedding.

After about an hour of choking back sobs, the youngest daughter went outside, past the few people with empty glasses in hand and deep into the lovely garden.

She stood amongst the rose bushes, staring into the green beneath her, and fighting hard against the coming wails.

Anna felt genuinely guilty. Here she was, on her elder sister's wedding day, completely unhappy and thinking only of herself. It was unfair to Ellis. It was unfair to Andrei. It was unfair to all the people who had come from the furthest reaches of Europe and now had to wonder, 'what's the matter with that Anna girl?'

But tears still came. They came like a goddamn flood. They came and tarnished Anna's make-up. They came and attracted Francis Bonfeuille.

And the miserable thing watched as he moved towards her. Oh, that man was the _last_ person she wished to see. In fact, one could easily say these droplets were the result of his persistence.

Because Anna, unlike Ellis, would very likely have to marry a man she didn't love. And watching her brother and darling new sister-in-law wed with such happiness and promise within their eyes made her core shatter. It was what Anna wanted. But might never have.

No, she was almost _certain _she would never have it.

And that was the reason behind these emotions. Behinds this thorn bush sentiment.

Francis stood in front of her.

"Please don't-"

"Don't do what, Anna?"

"I-" Gasp. "I don't know."

The man wrapped her up in strong arms. "What's wrong? You've been so sad lately."

Oh, Anna tried to stop those words from coming. She tried to keep them stuffed inside her throat, fighting with one another in an attempt to be free first. But they could not be held any longer.

Anna Ivanovna vomited the truth.

"I don't love you."

The Frenchman stepped back and regarded her. And the woman gathered the calmness to actually speak.

"I'm sorry; I'm so, so sorry." Breath was caught. "I can't even tell you how badly I wish I did. You're wonderful, Francis." A few moments taken to breathe. "You're kind and you're handsome. And in a lot of ways, you're perfect. I absolutely _hate_ myself-for being unable to love you. Because you _are_ so good. But I just don't. And I've tired. I've tried so goddamn hard to convince myself that the friendly adoration I have for you is actually romantic, but it's simply not. I can't say something is bright red when it's cream white. It would be unfair to lie to you-" Anna wiped away the upcoming tears. "Because you shouldn't have to marry a woman who doesn't love you. Not when you truly deserve someone who adores you in return, Francis. But that simply isn't me. And it can't _be_ me."

The coming chokes were fought away.

"I don't want to hurt you…I can't tell you how awful I feel, for telling you all of this. But it would be even worse, to keep the truth concealed for the rest of my life. You deserve honesty. And you deserve love, but I just can't give it to you."

It was at that point that Anna broke down again, hands devouring her face while that entire body quivered.

"I'm sorry." It came out muffled. "_I'm so sorry_."

Francis took in a breath, for his eyes were becoming raw as well. "I love you, Anna. But I can't marry you if you earnestly feel that way…" A gulp. "I wish you loved me, because you're the most interesting woman I've ever met." Hot water boiled over. "I don't think I've ever adored anyone as passionately as I adore you. But I wouldn't be happy-knowing I've trapped you. I'm upset-" That handsome French face faltered, eyes scrunching together and lips denting. "But I can't hurt you…I couldn't tolerate myself if I-"

And neither could speak any longer.

So Anna stole Francis into an embrace, and they wept together. Grip ate up backs and chins rested on shoulders. Because they had done this to one another.

Maybe Francis should have known.

Maybe Anna should have been normal.

They must have remained in place for entire minutes.

Then, they separated.

Anna wiped the tears from Francis' beautiful visage.

And he kissed her cheek.

And either stood in silence.

And Anna wished they could be companions. But she knew the wound that had been torn in Bonfeuille's heart was too wide. He had loved her too dearly to convert to friendship. It would be difficult to even glance at her from this point forward, much less speak and pretend that nothing of this magnitude had ever occurred between them.

So, she touched their lips together, to say good-bye.

"Maybe in the next life."

"I really hope so, Francis." A gasp. "I really do."

The man nodded and then walked away, escaping through the back. So no one would view him weeping. So no one would view his burning eyes and wide-open sadness.

And Anna, who had been freed, sat within the grass and mourned the absence of her love and her Frenchman.

She felt worse and better. Yes; the woman was liberated, but in order to get that very freedom, she was forced to commit murder.

Was it truly worth it?

Composure was regained and Anna went back inside.


	41. Chapter 41

Anna woke up being tugged by the hair.

"What have you done?"

Immediately, her scalp began to ache. Natasha was yanking roughly, her fingers wrapped up in golden curls.

"What have you done, Anna?"

Those crystal blue eyes met the mother, who was drenched in bright red rage and holding a whip.

No. It wasn't a belt. It wasn't her father's lovely leather belt, with a heavy silver buckle. This was the whip Natasha used to beat the serfs when they misbehaved.

"I was told Francis Bonfeuille was seen _crying_, leaving the wedding! So what did you do, you whore?"

Anna's scalp was really beginning to hurt. "I told him I didn't love him. And he left."

"You drove another away? The only one who could actually tolerate you? We _spoke_ about this! It doesn't matter if you love your husband! Do you think I love your father?"

Anna was pulled out of bed and thrown onto the floor.

"I'm sick of you, Anna!"

"You shouldn't speak to me this way! For fuck's sake! _I'm your daughter!_" Little tears began to prick at the edges of her eyes.

Then, Natasha cast the whip against her daughter's back.

Anna cried out. She could feel the quick incision against her flesh. It broke through her thin cotton night gown and blood began to trickle.

"You aren't my daughter!"

Another toss of the hand. Another few drops of blood. Another cry.

The woman looked back at her attacker, confused. Natasha was not speaking as though she disowned the girl. Natasha meant something far worse.

A maniacal look came into her expression. She had obviously gone mad.

"No-you're just the daughter of a whore, Anna."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Whip. Just to shut Anna up. And several more after that. Lighting fast pain accompanied by the warm flow of blood. She could feel it soaking through that ruined gown. Turning it crimson. Turning it black.

A sharp breath. A scream of pain.

A stinging confusion.

Anna gave up, more than she had beforehand. Because Natasha's words did not register.

"_Who was my mother?_"

And to that, the answer was calm. "A serf named Katya."

"_What?_"

The air was filled with the crack of the violent instrument. By three cracks, by six.

Then, Natasha stopped, catching her breath. Some kind of terror filled up in her eyes. She realized what she had said. She realized what she had given away. And she looked at the girl who was not her daughter, with the stains developing on her flesh. With the welds that had been there an eternity.

A breath was sucked in, and the elder left the room. Her voice was heard outside, telling a few of those poor servants to go clean up after her. And they came into Anna's chamber, picking her up from the floor.

And they removed her bloody night gown.

And they set her upon the bed.

She looked into their faces. Young women who seemed just as human as she was. Perhaps Anna was one of them. It was a truth that could hardly be swallowed, but now it was a definite possibility.

The young women-trapped in a life of servitude-wrapped the broken thing in bandages and left shortly after that. They left her upon that yelling stomach, where the fresh wounds were less sensitive.

Anna thought about what she had been told.

So her father had an affair. With a serf woman named Katya. Was she still present? Forced into the background, watcher her daughter become a cruel and crooked thing for twenty-two years?

And Anna had been born so near to her twin brothers.

That's when things must have gone horrendously wrong. Just after the birth of Andrei and Dmitri.

Children after all, did create quite a bit of stress. And they never loved one another, truly.

A sad laugh. So Anna' existence must have sprung from a broken marriage. Ivan and Natasha's hatred for one another spawned the opportunity for life to come into the muck that was the Braginski household.

Still.

Any of that was difficult to believe. Natasha could have been lying. And if she was lying, was that good or bad?

Should there be happiness that such an awful woman wasn't her relative? Perhaps this was excellent news-that her entire existence had been an utter lie.

Anna was simply lost.

So she wallowed inside her confusion, permeating within her serpentine thoughts, harsh as rattlesnakes. They escaped her grip only to turn around and bite her.

Smoke drained from her ears.

In the pain. In the loss of sense.

And after an hour or so, her father came to visit. His weight stacked against the side of her mattress. His large hand sat upon her shoulder.

"Anna…"

"Who was Katya?"

An abrupt and rigid silence.

"Natasha told me-" Pause. "Who is Katya? The serf woman?"

Ivan took a heavy stop. His breathing became something like thick steps. Each foot had an anvil tied to it. The seconds passed in the same manner. The whole world had been thrown under water.

It all moved slowly.

"Katya was your mother, Anna."

"Is this some kind of sick joke?" That shaken voice became bitter. "I'm not even certain of what I'm supposed to feel. Should I be angry that you had an affair; should I be happy that Natasha isn't my mother? What the hell should I do, father?"

"I don't know. It does sound an awful lot like a cruel prank, doesn't it?" Ivan took a breath. "We didn't want to tell you, because it was important that you were equal to either of your brothers. I suppose that was more pertinent to me than it was Natasha. She whipped you, didn't she?"

"Of course she did, you fool! _What?_ Did I do this to myself? You married a monster!"

"I know I did, Anna."

Ivan's composure made the daughter furious. "_Why are you so calm?_ Your child has just found out that the entire world she's known has been a lie and you're handling it as though it was anything else! 'Oh, I'm sorry dear, you lost your paints? Oh, how _unfortunate!_ Oh, Natasha just ruined everything for you? Well, that's life I suppose!' I could smash my head against the wall! But I'm in too much pain to even move! She used an actual whip this time! I guess I am a goddamn serf!"

The father said nothing, not at first. "You have every right to be upset."

"Get the hell out of my room! _Get out!_ I'll kill you if you don't leave now! I'll claw your eyes out-I'll-" Anna began to weep. "_Get out! Just get out!_"

Ivan stood up. "I'm sorry." And he moved to the door. "I love you."

"_Get the fuck out!_"

Then, after the outburst, Anna stuffed her face into that pillow and wept. She wept until there was no more water left to form tears. Like wringing out a dry towel. She wept until she had no idea why she was weeping. She wept until all of her energy had dissipated. And all that remained was disturbing dreams.

That recovering heart brimmed in hatred. For everyone. For Ivan. For Natasha. For Andrei and Dmitri. For that bitch Katya. Whoever she was. It wasn't even important. Anna hated her.

Anna even hated Alfred.

There was no certainty as to why, but she hated him.

Perhaps because what love remained in her heart had been shredded up and buried. In fact, the entire core had combusted and formed a black hole.

Anna had died.

She truly felt dead.


	42. Chapter 42

Anna's room was destroyed. The paintings were torn up. The chair was flipped over. The sheets were shredded. And when it was all over, the angry creature sat in the center of the carnage and howled.

No one stopped her.

No one wanted to go near that mad demon.

They weren't even certain what was going on. What had happened to Anna? Had she finally cracked beneath Natasha's cruelty? Had her anger become an inferno?

Where had their sister gone?

Where had their friend gone?

Where had their daughter gone?

No one knew. And no one was willing to attain the scratches to find out. That would be suicidal, when patience would probably allot for an answer.

But it was not only the housemates who wanted answers. Anna desired them as well. Because as this new piece of knowledge came into her world, a million questions came along with it.

Where was Katya? What did she look like? Was she kind? Was she cruel? What were her thoughts on the entire situation? Did she hate Natasha as much as Anna did?

Was Katya wondering the same things about her own daughter?

Maybe she did not want to see her.

There was a reason Anna had been lied to for such a long time.

Regardless, Anna felt as though she had to find out-for the closure- for herself. Otherwise, she would spend her entire life wondering about the women who gave birth to her.

Eventually, after about three days or so, Anna calmed down enough to ask her father.

She walked into his office, seeing a man who looked ten years older than the last time. Those usually kind crystals were sound and bright red, as though Ivan had been crying.

Served him right.

Anna sat down.

Ivan didn't really acknowledge her at first. But then, the man looked up and sucked in his lips as though something so important sat upon his tongue, the words could not even be formed to expel it.

So, the father said, "Hello, Anna."

Silence like a dagger. "Tell me about my mother. I want to know what happened."

"That's natural-to want to know such a thing." Those sights could not meet with the young woman's. It would be like glaring into the sun. "May I just apologize?" Lips squeezed together. Ivan's guilt was thick as a brick wall.

The clock could be heard, beating softly upon the wall.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

"I'm so sorry, Anna. I'm sorry things are the way they are. I feel such regret when I think of it all." Finally, those miserable sapphires shifted upwards. "I love you. I truly do. And I never wanted you to be damaged in such a way-"

"Papa-" A shaken sound. "Stop."

The daughter could have easily cried as well.

"No-I just…I'm sorry for everything. I should have protected you. But I was a terrible father and you're the one who has to pay for it. It's painful, Anna. To know that I can never go back and remove the scars from your skin or give you a proper childhood." Tears descended.

"God damn it! Shut the fuck up!" Anna stood and wiped the burning hot water from her cheeks. "I didn't come here for this! Tell me about Katya! Not all this sappy horse shit! Yes, you and your wife ruined me. We've established this! We all knew it _well_ before this incident! So let's move on, because you're wasting my time!"

But Ivan could not speak. His face merely sunk into those enormous palms and loud, uncomfortable sobs drained from him. Water brushing through a broken damn.

Anna secured her bottom mound.

She honestly hated to see her father this way; of course, she was far too angry to admit it, but within her heart laid a gaping soft spot for Ivan Braginski.

He loved her. Unconditionally. Intensely. And this pain of his was so genuine it made her even more upset. Upset with him, because he should have done more and upset with herself, because of her spiteful tongue and razor words.

You wouldn't guess it, but he was an extremely sweet man. And he adored his children. Maybe he loved Anna more than his boys, but favoritism was not in his heart. Ivan didn't wish to harm any of his offspring. Not a one of them.

"Papa, _stop crying!_" But Anna was being hypocritical. Emotion boiled from her eyes.

It was a good few minutes before Ivan could really stop. And as he wept, the intruder looked over the photographs upon his desk, and walls.

Photographs of the twins.

Photographs of her.

Even a photograph of Ellis. He loved her too.

"Papa, stop crying. Please."

So Ivan finally stopped, then he spoke. "I loved Katya." Eyes were cleaned. "When Andrei and Dmitri were born, she was assigned to care for them. Natasha just picked her out, from all the serfs we had. And god, she was so lovely. Golden blond hair and round blue eyes."

Anna gulped. "Do I look like her?"

"Yes, you do. A little bit." The man glanced out the window. "There's so much to say about her, I'm not even certain where I should begin." Breath. "I think you would have loved her. Katya was warm and kind. I doubt she could have said a cruel word, even if she really wished to. She listened well. And she never complained or spoke badly of anyone. In a lot of ways, she was an angel. But one day, shortly after you were born, she ran away with a sum of my money. I'm not certain where she got it from, or even how. But I do suspect Natasha drove her away…I never bothered with finding out. It was easier to let it go. Katya was gone and she broke my heart with her disappearance. Whatever the reason was for her absence, I don't know. It didn't matter. Digging her up again and getting the truth would have been far too painful. And I wouldn't have asked her to return anyway. If she truly wished to stay, she would have."

"So, she's gone."

"Yes. She's gone."

Silence. "I'm _sure_ Natasha drove her away."

"I wouldn't doubt it."

"Well, why did she leave me?"

"I don't know, Anna. I don't think she didn't want you…Maybe she felt that having two wealthy parents would be better than having a single poor one. You would live in a nice home and she wouldn't have stolen you from me…I'm certain run away serfs don't live comfortably."

Anna did not omit any thought.

So Ivan spoke, changing the topic. "Do you love Alfred F. Jones?"

The half slave almost choked.

"You can marry him. I honestly wished I could have married Katya. You'll have to be somewhat poor, if you do. But the money's not worth it, if there's no love. Look at me. I own my own orchestra and I'm miserable."

"Truly?"

"Truly. I'm not sure how the wedding would work. It would upset Natasha, but I don't care. Your happiness means far more than hers. Arrangements can be made."

A hard swallow. "I love him so much…There's nothing I would want more than that. Truly- I can't even express it."

"I know."

"How did you find out?"

"Anna, the whole home is full of servants and serfs who just love rumors. You've been seen with him, on more than one occasion. And since there was no one else, I had to assume…"

"Well, I do want to marry him. But I want to meet my mother first…" Gulp. Anna was ready to cry once more. "I need to gather these answers. For myself, before I can move forward in any direction."

Ivan jotted down a few words, and then tore away part of a piece of parchment, handing it to his daughter.

It was Katya's entire name.

"I won't be getting involved. But you're welcome to do with it as you please. It's all I can give you."

"Спасибо, Papa."

"Of course, Anna." The man rose and came towards that confused creature, wrapping her up within an embrace.

It was then that Anna could feel all his sorrow and pleads of forgiveness. All his adoration and grief and the desire to make everything alright. And she almost forgave him. The wound was still too damn raw, but Miss Ivanovna loved her father. She loved him the most out of everyone in her family. So it was difficult to bear such rage for the man.

"I love you, Anna. And I'm sorry."

"I love you too, Papa…And I'm sorry as well. My heart had been broken too. And then I broke someone else's heart." The squeeze grew tighter. "She's been harsh to you too."

And after a few moments and a kiss upon the cheek, Anna left. She was less angry than beforehand, and ready to solve the puzzle laid out before her.

It was a promise to herself.

She would find Katya.


	43. Chapter 43

Anna met Alfred outside, the paper folded with her pocked and lips pursed together. Her state was still an entire wreck, but Anna could function. To a degree.

"Hello, Alfred."

"Hello, Anna."

A gulp. She didn't know what the hell she was doing. "I need to go to the police station. But I want to speak first."

"I heard you got rid of your fiancé."

"Will you marry me?"

"_What?_"

"_Will you marry me? Please_. I want to be your wife."

Alfred took a moment to shit his pants. "What am I supposed to say to that? _Can_ we get married? I mean-"

"My father told me that it was absolutely alright with him." That mouth sank into itself. "I've never loved any one more than I've loved you. It's been absolute hell without you. And I want to be your wife. More than anything. I'll be good to you. And I'll clean the house. And I'll do all of those stupid things women are supposed to do…because I adore you, really." Anna's glassy eyes began to mist. "Please marry me."

"I won't be able to get you a diamond ring. Not for a while, anyway."

"I don't need a ring. I need you."

"My home is very small."

"I don't need a big home. I need you."

"I won't be able to buy you a lot of paints."

Hesitation. "My paintings can wait. You're more important. Besides, I can always sketch."

"I'll make you cry sometimes."

"I'm crying right now. And I still love you." Tears wiped away. "Just marry me. Will you please just do that?"

Alfred gave a little smile, the kind that made Anna's heart burst.

"I've really missed you, you stupid American." A gasp. The emotions were being fought. "You can't even imagine it."

Then, without words, Alfred put his arms around Anna. And she cried into his shoulder. It had been an eternity. And the woman had missed her darling desperately. Alfred filled in all the little cracks within her heart. Suddenly, the ache wasn't so damn painful.

"I love you, Anna. And I'll marry you."

"Thank you." That sweet golden hair was touched by dainty fingers. "But we have to go to the police station now."

"Why do you want to go there?"

"It's such a long story…I'll tell you later. But I couldn't possibly go into it now. I'll cry…"

"You're already crying."

"Exactly. I'll cry even more. So we simply need to go."

"Alright, Annushka. I'll take you to the police station." Alfred touched her cheek with a careful mouth.

So they went to the police station, the entire ride over being rather quiet and even somewhat pleasant, despite Anna's racing mind and jolting nerves. Her heart was beating inside her ears and she'd love nothing more than to shut it up. But that wouldn't happen, so the paper with her mother's name written upon it was worked. Corners folded. Paper worn.

Then, after that anxiety, Anna walked through the front doors after taking a few seconds of hesitation. Her blood felt as though it had been replaced with needles. Yes. It hurt. And it put her near the edge, but this was something she needed to do.

The front desk was approached.

"Hello, Miss."

"Hello…" The piece of paper was given to the officer. "Can you tell me where this woman is, if she's still living in this area? I'm looking for her."

"I can certainly check. Just a moment."

So Anna stood and waited in silence, wondering how this system worked. Was your name only accessible at the Police station if you committed a crime? Or did they simply keep files on everyone, like an enormous address book? Were they even allowed to give Anna this information?

She truly hoped so.

The man returned a few minutes later with another sheet of paper to accompany Anna's small note.

"We had two different Katyas on file. Hopefully, this will help." The parchment was given to the young woman, two addresses written upon it.

"Thank you, sir."

"Of course."

And Anna went back outside, meeting her new fiancé, and showing him where they would be going next. He looked at her as though she was mad, but only for a moment.

"You know, either of these areas is poor. Extremely so."

"That's quite alright, Alfred. This is still something I need to do."

"Well, whatever you like Anna."

"Thank you."

It was moments such as this that made Anna love Alfred all the more. He didn't question her. He didn't extract information for his own sake. He simply listened and nodded and offered her comfort.

And she was going to be his wife.

Anna held Alfred. Because Anna adored Alfred.

"I'm sorry we can't take a moment and be happy together-about our engagement. But…I need this, before I can do anything else."

"Alright, Anna. I understand." Kiss. "Let's go."

That was it. They were off.

The ride was long. It felt like each turn of those wheels came painfully slowly. The carriage could not move fast enough. But Anna knew this patience would make the meeting only more profound. Whether it was wonderful or horrendous, it did not matter.

After all, what would it be if the child could simply _be_ there? Nothing.

Nothing at all.

So Anna held her lover's hand as they rolled forward, into what was becoming evening. A panic was settling within her, but somehow, that fire was stowed beneath a flame retardant blanket. Building passes, each one shabbier than the last, until the two had finally reached the edges of the town.

"We're getting closer."

"I know."

Anna hoped to God that this was the right choice. So the longest trip of her life would not have to be taken again. The entire thing was incredibly unpleasant; doing it a second time would be choking on broken glass.

Alfred began to slow down, coming to a small row of homes, each one somewhat strange and beautiful in their shanty originality. Someone had even painted flowers at the side of their window, where a million filthy children glanced out at the sparkling and clean carriage.

Anna's crux filled with upset, if her mother had to live this way.

She almost hoped this wasn't it.

And suddenly, they stopped.

"Well, this is the place." Alfred regarded the sight before either of them. "When this entire thing is over, will you please explain it to me?"

"Of course. I just need to figure out what's going on myself."

So those elegantly dressed feet stepped from the carriage and planted Anna in her place, with her goddamn suspenders and baggy trousers. How was she to explain herself? That she had simply become a man in the time Katya was gone?

A breath.

Something told her this was it. It simply had to be. This simply had to be Katya's home.

A light pink exterior with a light grey roof, and the faces of several happy matryoshka dolls sitting inside that elderly glass. There was a little green in the front yard. Tiny flowers and haphazard dandelions.

It all fit. Really.

Anna had to bit her lip. _Fuck_. She was going to cry again.

A jagged breath. Sharper than an axe.

"Are you alright, Anna?"

No answer, but a step forward. It felt like her foot had been turned to solid concrete. Up to her knee. Maybe that's why her lungs hurt so badly. They were trying not to become stone.

About a minute passed by before the door creaked open.

A gentle blue eye peaked out of it.

"Excuse me?" Then a dollish face. Framed with short golden hair. "Can I help either of you?" The threshold opened wider. And a little woman appeared.

"I really hope you can." Anna wiped her nose with the back of her hand. "You have a lovely home."

"Well, thank you." Those feet stepped from the front porch. They were apprehensive. A rabbit standing before a rabid fox. But that wasn't truly the case. "Are you lost?"

"No…" A hard swallow. "Did you know Ivan Braginski?"

Shock. Immediate shock. An electrocution.

That was answer enough.

"I'm Anna."

Katya looked as though she did not know what to do. Run? Hide? Take the weeping thing before her into an embrace? But there was too much shock for any of that. Too much sudden emotion and pain. Raw fucking pain that split her nerves in two.

Surprise.

"This is my fiancé, Alfred." Control was coming roughly.

"I don't think you're telling the truth-" Katya took a step backward. "It can't be…"

It was Anna's turn to be silent.

"You must have the wrong person-"

"No-please!" Anna took a step forward. "Please, I'm _Anna._ Truly. You know Natasha, don't you? That awful woman-my father's wife. And Andrei and Dmitri-you used to take care of them. They're my brothers-twins. Andrei just got married…"

Katya was frozen, just as Anna was frozen.

"_You know who I am!_"

And finally, that woman sunk against the first few steps of her little pink house. The same pink house Natasha had bought her nearly two decades ago.

"I'm sorry. I need to think about this…Just allow me an hour or so. Or, come back tomorrow, or-" Sudden tears. And the entire world stopped. Katya began to weep, as though all the years of missing her daughter's life had come and smacked her right in the mouth.

And they had.

All twenty-two of them were standing before her, with tears against cheeks.

Katya felt ashamed. That her own daughter did not even know who she was-they had only just met-and that she had missed all of those crucial years. When Anna was cute and small and young. But she was still young-and so very beautiful.

It was almost as though Katya was witnessing an angel of sorts. Some kind of gorgeous creature that she had only dreamed of-that only existed in the back of her mind. And all the years spent worrying about her, and wondering, and regretting leaving her behind-now they would be better and worse in different aspects. Now the questions would be answered and the pain would finally be acknowledged. Stared at dead on with a gaping jaw while Katya was forced to make words come from her mouth.

What had she done?

It went on for about a minute. No one said practically anything. The whole damn universe froze and became silent. A snow globe that had not been touched in _years_. That lived beneath a blanket of harsh dust.

Finally, Anna sat next to her mother and they held one another as Alfred watched in confusion and concern for that lover of his. It bothered him that he could hardly do anything else.


	44. Chapter 44

Eventually, Anna and Alfred were invited inside Katya's home and sat within two shabby chairs, Katya across the table from them. At first, nothing was said. The daughter and mother merely looked at one another, uncertain of what to say. While this odd melding of stares occurred, Alfred glanced around the room, taking in all the poverty this little house had to offer.

The entire thing looked as though it might fall over at any moment. It would creak in the wind, or snow, or even the sunshine. The floor boards were old and rotten, but were covered by a decent rug in the center of the floor. The windows were well polished, but just as ancient as the rest of the place and made from shanty material.

Alfred, actually, was surprised that Anna barely seemed to notice the run-down state of her mother's home. And if she did notice it, it hardly bothered her. The aristocrat simply sat there, regarding her long lost blood with sad eyes and lips twisted into a confused smile.

It was difficult to know what to do with this situation.

So the American just sat and waited.

Finally, Katya raised her voice.

"I'm sorry, Anna. For what happened-all of it, I mean." Emotive blue eyes came to an identical pair just across from them. "I suppose I should explain myself, unless you'd rather not hear it. I would understand either choice."

Those red lips were sucked in slightly, as Anna was not certain of what she should say. Finally, words drifted from her throat. And they were cautious. "Can I just ask you a few questions? Or maybe only one. I'm not even certain."

"Yes, of course. Whatever you like, Anna."

The nervous inquiries came, or at least began. The first one being, "Why did you leave?"

At these four words, Anna flinched. She was not quite certain of what she was doing-would acquiring this answer be opening Pandora's Box? Would she regret knowing? Would the angelic Katya turn out to be less than the saint her father painted?

The seconds came by like pin pricks. As though someone kept poking Anna with the business end of a sharp little needle.

Katya sucked in a mighty breath. "Well, Anna, there are so many reasons. The main one being if you came with me-Just look at where you would be…" Pause. "You would have been malnourished and frequently sick, as well as uneducated. Not to mention cold. It's a hell of a life out here. I've almost starved on numerous occasions. Can you even imagine trying to feed myself and a child? Just a child alone…I'm certain you would have died very young. And if you didn't die, I likely would have protecting you…I think being an orphan and trying to make something of your existence is simply impossible." Katya was blinking away tears. "I loved you so much. I still love you…So I couldn't take you with me and doom you to this. Filthy water and meager food and ratty clothes."

"Well, why didn't you stay, then?"

Katya's mouth was sucked in to murder the coming tears.

"Oh, Anna. I had caused so much trouble. I fell in love with your father when he was a married man and…" The statement could not be finished. "Well, I had made Natasha's life hell. After she had discovered Ivan and me, something in her had become terribly cruel and bitter. That isn't to say she was ever kind, or loving, but Natasha was so much better before everything was ruined. Staying would make my life hell. I was whipped once out of anger-"

"She whipped me too."

Katya began to weep. "Please forgive me, Anna, I never meant you any harm-I _love_ you." Her mouth was covered by a hand. "I'm sorry."

The daughter was not certain of what to say. Her tongue was even drier than it was beforehand. It was as though she had been cursed to eat sand and drink fire.

Her throat hurt as well.

And her eyes watered up.

Then, moments passed in a kind of miserable silence, where the American intruder-who was not invited to this depressing affair-took Anna's hand and waited in his lifting confusion.

He was discovering a grand secret no one but the Braginskis and Katya were aware of.

Did Andrei and Dmitri even know this?

The still was yet again broken by Anna, who seemed to have a skill in destroying such barriers.

"It's alright, mama." Although these words were true, they were still difficult to say. Yes. It was the past. But at the same time, Anna's back was still laced in horrendous welds. They still burned to think about. They were hideous to the touch. Some of them were years old.

But this was not Katya's fault.

As upsetting as it all was, having left with Katya certainly would have resulted in Anna's death. It was amazing that this poor serf woman was still alive as she was. So many of the destitute wore ugly scars from parasitic infections and had some kind of handicap. Katya was probably crippled in some regard, but it wasn't obvious.

In fact, she looked absolutely fine; but that must have been from luck and intelligence.

And how could Anna demand she stay in that hell hole of a mansion? Life for all serfs was misery, but life beneath Natasha was not rotten enough for Satan himself. Because when she was not beating Anna, she was likely beating the slaves.

How _else _could Katya be whipped?

_Gently? _

"I forgive you."

At those words, Katya rose and came to her daughter's side of the table, tying her up between those two exhausted arms. Katya's sweet hands stroked over her daughter's light blond hair, while her cheek sat against the girl's scalp. "I'm sorry, Anna. Will you tell me everything about yourself? I've wondered about you so long."

"Yes mama."

"And will you come back after this visit? I'd like nothing more than to see you again."

"Of course, Mama."

Katya squeezed even tighter, and then looked to Alfred, who-with a hand gesture-was welcomed into this odd little embrace of Anna Ivanovna.

There that strange princess was, held between her darling lover and the sweet mother she had never before had. It was at this moment that the young woman knew Alfred was meant to be her husband and Katya was meant to be her mother.

And she wept. She wept of happiness and sorrow and raw emotion that could not be explained properly. Poor Miss Ivanovna was so many things at once, she was nothing and everything at the same time.

It went on this way, until everyone took their seats once again and spoke to one another, a new small family.

Things finally seemed complete.

_Finally. _


	45. Chapter 45

Katya told Anna of everything. Of her life since leaving the Braginski household. She told Anna of the hardships, the lonesomeness, and all that had happened before they met one another.

Katya also told Anna of Natasha.

Katya told Anna of the bribe, just for the record.

And it didn't surprise her. Not even a little bit. After all, Natasha was behind all the worst things within her family's life.

It would have been much better if the woman had gone away. She did not love her husband. She almost loved her children. And she certainly didn't love Anna. No. Natasha hated Anna.

She had no business in their space.

Natasha, in fact, was a tumor in the back of Ivan Braginski's brain. She was the cancer burning up his stomach. She was the fire hot lines of spit that devoured Katya's back. Anna's back.

Ivan's back.

Everyone's back.

That hurt as well, to be aware of that fact. But, Anna realized, after Katya had told her all this, that was the only way she would be happy-is if Anna got the hell out of her home. Away from Natasha. Away from her sick memories.

At the end of it, the half serf kissed her mother good-bye.

"You'll come back, won't you, Anna?"

"Of course. I'll visit once a week, if that's alright."

"Of course it's' alright! You're welcome here anytime you please." Katya offered a little grin to the American. "You too, Alfred. I'm sorry if you were lost."

"Oh well. That's not anyone's fault."

Embraces good-bye. Kisses on cheeks. "Promise me you'll come back. Truly. I simply-You're _here_. And I thought I would never see you."

"I know." Some part of the young woman still didn't believe any of this. It was quite a bit to swallow in one sitting.

Anna ate an entire melon in a single bite.

And her teeth hurt.

A few more final hugs good-bye and Anna and Alfred finally left, piling into the driver's seat of the carriage and moving forward. Katya waved and Anna waved back.

"Thank you, Alfred."

Pause. "Are you alright, Anna?"

"Yes. I'm alright. I'm far more alright than I was beforehand." Cigarette. Light. Smoke. "Alfred, we've only just been engaged but…"

"But? Don't tell me you're-"

"No. I have every intention to marry you. I simply need to request a rather large favor."

"Oh. Well, what is it?"

"I need to move out."

Alfred remained silent for several long moments. "It's a bit sudden but I can understand why…" Those sweet blue eyes flicked over to Anna, and then to the road once again. "Natasha…"

"Oh, Alfred. She's nothing but rotten. I promise you, I'll pay for my half of the rent. I'll sell my paintings; I'll get a job as a maid. Truly. But please- I can't go back to my home. Not to stay."

"You want to move in right away?"

"Yes."

A small sigh. "Alright, Anna. You can stay with me." Alfred glanced into his darling's sapphires a short moment, the trouble within them entirely evident. "But you shouldn't have to worry about paying for my home…Or rather, apartment-for now. You're going to be my wife. I have to support you."

"No."

"No?"

"_No._"

"Why?" The man slowed the carriage. "That's not fair."

"Yes, it _is_ fair. I'm not marrying you to become a piece of furniture within your flat. You work hard; I work hard. You have a job; I have a job. We'll earn money together and go buy a nice home. You don't deserve to do all the work and not only have yourself to feed, but me as well. And if we ever do have children-"

"Anna, I would want you stay at home with any offspring we do have…at least until…"

Could they even afford school?

Alfred didn't know.

"Let's just try not to have children until we're ready."

"Of course." Anna stuck her lips against the man's cheek. "I'm not even certain I want a baby. I'm sure you feel the same."

"I do."

Either took a long pause. "I'm sorry, Alfred. Everything has happened so suddenly. We're engaged, and I just met my mother for the first time, and now I have to leave home." Alfred's hand was gripped. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry this happened this way. It's not fair to either of us, but…"

"Life isn't fair, Anna."

"No. No it's not." Dainty fingers squeezed. "I'll take care of you, Alfred. I promise."

"I don't doubt that." Kiss. "I suppose you want to go home and gather your things, don't you?"

"Yes. I won't be brining much with me. Just some clothes and my paints. Maybe a few sketchbooks. I can't think of anything else worth keeping." Sore lips mashed together. "Thank you for putting up with me. And accepting me. I love you."

"I love you too. But you don't have to thank me, Anna. Honestly, I'm a little worried about you. It seems as though everything has changed so quickly. Things have been stable for me. But with everything that's happened to you…I only hope you're alright."

"I can't necessarily say that I am…I honestly don't want to think about it. About any of it. I simply want to move forward now. With you." That short blond hair was played with. "I feel awful for dragging you into this."

"Anna, you haven't dragged me into anything, for Christ's sake. I volunteered. Of course, I didn't have a choice in loving you. If it was up to me, I probably wouldn't to make it easier for the both of us. But I want to be there for you, because I _do_ love you."

Anna wasn't quite certain of what to say, at first.

"I probably wouldn't love you either, Alfred. But I've never loved anyone more. I adore you. Perhaps it was meant to be. I am a serf, after all. In all reality, you're a rank above me." Kiss. "I'm sorry if I seem off for the next few days."

"You can be as off as you like, Annushka. Just as long as you're mine."

"Well, I'm about as yours as I can be."

"Good, then there's nothing to worry about."

The rest of the trip commenced in pleasant silence, as Anna and Alfred thought to themselves. Finally, Anna felt at peace. Yes, her life had popped and the truth had become a bomb that left all of her things in shambles. But the war was over. The bloodshed had been done. The wounds had become scars and everyone moved forward. Anna met Katya and received closure, living in relief because that monster Natasha was not truly her relation. And finally, she had Alfred. Even though driving away that sweet Frenchman broke her tender heart.

Anna wished to write an apology.

But luckily, that feud was over as well.

This horrible chapter of control and force was over. The young Russian woman cold finally be with the man she earnestly adored and was no longer beaten into painful submission.

Finally, she was granted the ability to say no.

And that's what she would do. Without fear or agony or guilt.

Now, Anna was her own woman. Something she had strived to be since she could speak.


	46. Chapter 46

Anna and Alfred returned, stopping before that large and oppressive mansion. The woman glanced upward into the deep night sky.

It was difficult to imagine that she would be leaving this place. She had never lived anywhere else in her entire life. But it didn't matter. The fact still remained that it was time for her to go.

"Alfred, I'm going to pack my things and say a few good-byes. It might take a while."

"Well, I'll go to the carriage and wait."

"You don't have to wait outside. You're welcome to come with me and stay in my room."

"Well, it sounds like I'll be waiting either way."

Anna's brows dropped. "I'm sorry, Alfred. I feel like I've dragged you through enough emotional turmoil today."

"I have to admit, I did feel quite out of place at your mother's house. It doesn't feel like it should be something I accompany you into. This is yours, Anna. It's not mine. And pretending it is seems somewhat unfair because you have a right to express such emotions. I simply don't."

"Well, I think it belong to you as much as it belongs to me, but I won't force you into following me. I understand, Alfred."

"Thank you, Anna." Mouths exchanged. "I'll be waiting for you. And we can go home once you're finished."

A nod. And the pair went inside, through the long hallways and to Anna's chamber. Quickly, things were gathered. Shirts, pants, suspenders. And a single gown- for safety's sake. A few books were packed. And of course, all of Anna's brushes and paints and her pallet. But that was all. That was all she really needed.

Alfred helped. And Alfred watched.

Then Anna kissed him good-bye with a frantic heart and flushed cheeks. Her crux was kicking in her fragile ribcage and the bones were breaking slowly via hairline fractures. A million little cracks.

First, she would say good-bye to Dmitri.

The walk was certainly a long one. Anna was sure by the end of this, going through all these goddamn corridors would make her feel severely faint.

Her white knuckles knocked upon the door.

And Dmitri answered about a minute later, likely stopping just after finishing an incredibly important sentence. Inside those beautiful blue eyes were a mess of sadness and remorse upon seeing the youngest sibling.

"Hello, Anna. Papa told me about what happened." The man snatched his opposite inside those strong arms. "I'm sorry."

Slender limbs accepted the large body placed before them.

"It's not your fault, Dmitri. I just came to tell you that I'm leaving."

"You are?" They pulled from one another. "Where are you going?"

"To Alfred's home. I can't stay here any longer…" A great sadness welled within her throat.

No, Anna was not leaving forever. It was likely she would come to visit her brothers and father and sweet sister-in-law at least once a month, if not more often. But it still hurt-to say good-bye. To move into a new phase of her life and close the book on this hellhole.

The entire event was simply upsetting.

"Maybe you can take a break from writing your classics to write a letter to your little sister. I'll give you my new address, so we can keep in touch."

"Of course, Anna. After all, you were always the first person I went to when I couldn't possibly write any longer. You'll come back and visit, won't you?"

"Yes, I will. And when I do, we can make candy together."

"That sounds nice, Anna." Dmitri kissed his sister's cheek. "I love you."

"I love you too, Dima." A quick peck in return. "Go get married already, won't you? I was supposed to be last."

The younger twin laughed. "Alright. I'll try."

"Хорошо." Smooch. "Good-bye, Dmitri."

"Good-bye Anna."

And that was that.


	47. Chapter 47

Anna appeared before Andrei and Ellis' room, knocking upon the door and waiting patiently as she had only a few moments before hand.

Andrei answered.

The same look of pity ate up his eyes, just as they ate up Dmitri's. In fact, this look of remorse could have been far worse. Andrei never truly went out of his way to be kind to Anna. Their relationship was broken clockwork.

"Hello, Andrei."

"Hello, Anna." Those handsome brows dented and the prince was unsure of what to say. "I heard about what happened."

"So Papa told you as well?"

"Yes. He did. You're alright, aren't you?"

"No, Andrei. I'm not alright. But then again, I never really have been, have I?" The younger sister shifted a bit. "I don't think you care anyway. Can I talk to Ellis?"

For a moment, the freshly married man regarded the ceiling. "Maybe you're right, Anna. I could have been a better brother…" Blue met blue. "I was obsessed with getting the hell out of here; I didn't bother becoming too attached with anyone. But I _do_ care about you. I care about everyone in this house."

Nothing was said upon the other end.

"I'm sorry, Anna."

Silence. For a moment. "It's alright, Andrei. I can't blame you. I wanted to get away myself. But instead of getting out, I locked myself away, just so I wouldn't have to deal with any of it."

"I know, Anna." Andrei left a little touch on his sister's cheek. "You're leaving, aren't you?"

"Yes. I assume you know about Alfred."

"Да. Papa told me about him too. Ellis is excited for you, and upset at what you had to go through."

"Well, where is she?"

"She's getting ready for bed. I'll bring her out. Or you can come in. Whatever you like."

So Anna followed Andrei into his bedroom and saw Ellis standing before the bathroom mirror, washing that delicate face. Immediately, she came out, wearing a lacy night gown, and wrapped Anna in those slender arms. All the love poured from her chest and traveled into the skinny things' crux.

"Hello, Anna." Little kisses applied to her gaunt shoulder. "Are you alright?"

"I'm feeling better, Ellis." The warmth radiated from that tiny Austrian and brought a bit of the rawness back into Anna's visage. She felt as though she could cry, but weeping was becoming exhausting. There was no desire to break down once more, but the sobs might be unstoppable.

Anna took a heavy swallow.

"You know, I've been so worried about you…But I didn't want to bother you because doing so might have made you more upset. It's no wonder why you've been unhappy. You were in love with someone else the entire time." Ellis' hands gently stroked the woman's back. "Did you get to meet Katya?"

"Yes." Oh, God damn it. The tears. "Yes. I met her."

"Well, that's wonderful. Was she nice?"

A nod, and Anna nearly sucked that sweet woman into her from.

It was at this point that Andrei joined the two in their embrace, resting his neck against Anna's shoulder. One of his arms was given to his half-sister, while the other one ate up his tiny wife.

And Anna cried.

She cried and cried and cried.

"Thank you."

"Of course." Ellis looked up at the others. "We love you."

There were another few minutes of sorrow and finally, the embrace was broken apart. "I just wanted to come and say good-bye. I can't stay here any longer, and even if I could it's about time I moved out."

"Well…" Andrei paused. "We'll be going too, so it's nice that you came when you did. We're heading back to Austria at the end of this week."

Quiet.

"But we'll write you letters, Anna. And of course come for a once yearly visit, at least. Then you can hear my horrible French again and laugh at me." A little grin. "Maybe I can even annoy Andrei into teaching me some Russian."

"We'll see." The tall man kissed his woman. "Maybe we can make up for lost time, Anna."

"I'd really like that, Andrei."

And a few more embraces were shared and Anna made her way to Ivan's room. Perhaps his office. Wherever the hell he was at that moment; she would find him. Anna wasn't moving away without saying good-bye to her father.


	48. Chapter 48

Anna came to the man's office crying. The calm couldn't be maintained from the last visit with Ellis and Andrei.

And she stood there, with those liquid blue tears eating up her eyes.

It all seemed so ridiculous. Anna, the half serf-half aristocrat, running off to marry an American and weeping over people she knew would be seen again. This wasn't the last time her father would be visited. Or her brothers. Or that darling little Ellis. Of course not. But still, the emotions welled up within her and made her howl. They built and built, until that tower of sentiments was scratching at the clouds and offering bruises.

"Oh, Anna." The man rose, gargantuan body stuffing the entire room. Ivan came to his daughter and embraced her.

"I'm moving out with Alfred."

"I know." Little kisses lining her cheeks. "Natasha left."

"What?" The miserable thing managed to breathe.

"We got in a fight about you. I was simply going to tell everyone the truth, but Natasha wanted to keep it in the dark. As though you wouldn't return. She finally decided to leave. I don't know when she's coming back or even_ if_ she's coming back. Either way, she's gone." Ivan held his daughter a little more tightly. "I'm sorry, Anna. For everything. That woman was horrible to you, but I wasn't certain of what to do. Sometimes it felt as though it would be wrong to tell her not to be your mother, but…Well, you might have been better off just knowing the truth from the beginning. You needed Natasha as much as you needed a cut against the leg."

A moment of silence.

And Anna took steady air.

"I met Katya, Papa."

"You did? And how is she?"

Anna had to stop a moment before she continued. The lump in her throat was growing like tenacious cancer; she had to focus on making it smaller before any words could pass her cheeks. Soggy eyes blinked. Lips churned and finally came back to a petit frown.

"She seems alright. Surprisingly. She's aged well and she looked healthy." Pause. "As it turns out, Natasha bribed her to leave. Katya was given a large amount of money and told to go away…" Sniff. "It's not that shocking, it is?"

Ivan regarded his heavy feet. "I feel sick, Anna. About what happened." Little tears were beginning to prick at the corners of the father's eyes. "You've been treated so unfairly. Is there any way to make it up to you?"

"You already have, Papa. You're allowing me to marry the man I adore. It's all I could possibly ask, aside from a few paintbrushes."

Ivan laughed and wiped his nose, still trying to burn away the sadness upsetting his stomach. "I'm so sorry, Annushka."

"It's-" Could the young woman honestly say it was alright? After all the hell that bitter housewife had put her through-after the forced fiancés and beatings and lies. Anna's heart still ached about it, and what had happened to that Francis Bonfeuille…

If Natasha had never summoned the man to their home, he never would have gotten his heart broken so badly.

But what did that all matter?

Anna's back no longer hurt.

Only a few hours ago, she had proposes to Alfred F. Jones, the finest goddamn American a woman could find.

She met her mother and found relief in the fact that Katya was nothing short of an angel.

Reconciliation had been dealt to all her lovely siblings.

And Natasha, harsh and ugly Natasha, had run away.

Looking at all of these things and trying to be bitter was like trying to make nectar taste horrible. It was looking at an extravagant gift and trying to assign fault to it.

Yes. Her past had been sour. And it had been brutal.

But that was over now, and inside Anna's chipped and emptied bowl was a decent helping of fresh nourishment. Hell, the glass ware itself was even replaced for something new and beautiful.

So why hold a hideous grudge against such a loving man? After all, what was he to do? Out of all the Braginskis, he bore the worst of that awful woman. Ivan had eaten Natasha's oppression as well.

"It's alright, Papa."

The aristocrat was weeping, clutching his daughter to his chest and holding those petit shoulder blades for support.

Anna had never seen her father so weak.

So, she began to cry as well, his emotions poisoning her rigid strength and making her turn into pliable clay.

"I love you, Anna. And I'm so sorry."

"It's alright papa. _Truly_." Frail arms squeezed the humongous being. "I'll come visit you, alright? At least once a month. And if not, I'll send a letter, or at least _something._"

"Come once a week."

"Once a week?" A few moments passed. "Alright. I'll come one a week."

"And will you get married here?"

A few moments passed. "Yes, papa. Alfred and I will get married here."

"And will you have children?"

More than a few moments passed. In fact, a plethora passed. "Да, papa. I'll have children."

"Thank you, Anna."

"Of course."

Father and daughter remained in place for several long minutes, the man crying while the woman offered comfort. They would switch rolls when Anna wept.

Nothing more was said either. Words could not be used in communication. Every last message was transferred through the blood either of them shared. Just like with Ellis, Anna could feel the pure adoration pouring from her father's veins. She could feel the all-consuming sorrow, and his even more powerful remorse. And Anna knew for certain that this man-this poor beaten Slavic prince-wanted to give her everything. There was no doubt within her mind about this.

And she loved him as well. In fact, she loved the living shit out of her father and could not manage even a small drop of hatred for him. The woman felt guilty even trying.

So Anna left with Alfred that night. Exhausted. Drained. And entirely resolved.

Now, she could be happy without feeling as though some grand part of her life had been left untied.

Now, Anna could move forward.

She glowed like gold.


	49. Epilogue

Anna moved in with Alfred and life progressed forward. It was difficult at first. The woman was not used to small spaces, as Alfred's apartment was a bedroom, a bathroom, and a main room. With a hallway and a kitchen.

When Alfred went to work, the Russian woman would go outside and draw. And pace. And then draw. And pace more. And when she grew tired of pacing and drawing, Anna got herself a job. To assist her fiancé.

Commissions were taken to paint rich families. Anna painted young couples and old couples. With their children and relatives and governesses. The reason why anyone hired her-a strange transvestite woman-was due to the fact that her rates were far, far cheaper than anyone else's, for work that was just as wonderful.

On top of that, Anna visited her mother on Saturday and her father on Sunday, and the rest of her family as well. Dmitri made candy with her. Ivan drank coffee with her. And then there was the letters back and forth to Andrei and Ellis, who were comfortable in Vienna.

Then she would clean the house. What there was to clean. Neither of them was really around enough to make a mess. But they still managed to make time for one another. When either had a free day together, they lied about the house, resting against Alfred's ancient sofa, holding hands. Sometimes, making love. Sometimes talking. Sometimes saying nothing at all.

It was difficult. But that made all the happy, casual days even more worthwhile.

And after a year or so, Alfred gave Anna a lovely golden ring with a small diamond, poised at the top-something small and dainty, as well as reasonable. Anna wore it with pride, and a few months later, the couple was wed.

It was nothing all too fancy. A happy backyard event, with Anna's family and Alfred's family. Which consisted of an angry British man with thick eyebrows, who was shorter than Anna herself. He didn't bother wondering why she was dressed in a suit. He didn't bother wondering why she was the height a tall man would be. He didn't bother wondering why she had such short hair. Maybe this was due to the fact that the man didn't speak a lick of Russian or French. But he had fun. He had so much fun the man couldn't even remember it.

And things seemed to go well for quite a long time. Until Napoleon came storming into Eastern Europe.

It was at that point that the sky turned grey. And the work became harder. And everyone wore something of a scowl. The air grew oppressive. The paranoia built, even the visits with Katya and Ivan seemed less sweet, just due to the sheer worry.

And it built.

And built.

And built.

And built.

One day, Anna said, "Do you want to go to America?"

The question was like a kick in the teeth.

"What?"

"Do you want to go to America?"

"America, why?"

"Because Russia is awful. Now-anyway." The woman was smoking a cigarette and eating stale bread. "I want to try something new. Maybe learn some English. Paint someone American who isn't my husband. You know. There must be a million interesting things to see. Don't you want to speak English again?"

"I can speak English whenever I want. I already know English."

"But you know Russian too. Do you even think about it anymore?"

"No…I don't have to think about it."

"You see?"

"Well, let's think about this, Anna."

"But I _have_ thought about it."

"Then let _me_ think about it." Alfred kissed his wife's cheek. "I haven't been back in years. I need a little more time than a minute and a half."

"Oh, Alfie."

"_Oh, Annushka_."

So Alfred took a little longer than a minute and a half. Alfred took about a month and a half. Then he agreed to take Anna to America. Perhaps being in Europe was too dangerous. No one wanted to go to war, but the possibility was too tangible.

Things were packed away; the important ones. Clothes. Shoes. Paintbrushes (a wedding present from Anna's father) and all the money they had saved together. Then, the woman was forced to say good-bye to her father a second time. This time, there would be no visits. This time, it would be years.

The tears were even worse.

The good-bye must have gone on an entire hour. And afterwards, the woman was given several thousand roubles and a blessing from her father.

Then, she said good-bye to her mother. This good-bye lasted six hours. But Anna promised letters. Letters as fast as she could send them. Luckily, Katya knew how to read and write. From her mother, Anna was given a polished matryoshka doll from the collection.

After the final words, Anna and Alfred moved across countries. They jumped on a boat and went to America. They tried to learn English.

"No, Anna. It's 'where is the bathroom?' not 'vherrre is see basrrroom?'"

"Shut the fuck up, Alfred."

"I'm only trying to help you." Kiss. "Now listen, while I read this paragraph…"

It didn't come easily. Words were repeated. And repeated. And repeated. With rolling r's and mispronounced th's. But Anna learned. Alfred taught her bits of grammar, spelling, and reading. Whenever she wrote, something was spelled wrong. Some words were even pronounced with a French accent. It was frustrating, but Mr. Jones was a patient teacher.

When they arrived in America, Anna's English boomed.

She still spoke with a heavy accent, but the woman could speak, at least. People understood her. They talked with her. And the language was improved.

Anna was still a painter, but it was even more difficult to find work as 'the strange Russian woman'. However, she managed to make her art and make her money. And she wrote to her parents and cleaned the apartment and practiced English with Alfred.

They were happy together. Life was difficult, but it was good. And Anna, despite all the hell she had gone through, was happy with her husband. Living the life of an immigrant. She dealt with those who made fun of her accent, her clothing, her status. But Anna was glad, only because she was with the man she loved so dearly.

This sort of fulfillment could not have been taken in Russia. With a man named Francis Bonfeuille. It could not have been taken alone either. And it could not have been taken if Anna did not let go of the past.

The scars remained, if only as a reminder, but they did not burn. Not when Alfred touched them so delicately. Not when they didn't mean what they used to any longer.

No, the woman was alright. In fact, she was even happy. She enjoyed working hard. She enjoyed speaking English. She enjoyed being Alfred's wife.

So when she heard the news that Natasha had returned, she did not care. She did not care when her father wrote her several notes about how that vile woman wished to talk. She did not care when a letter was sent directly from Natasha herself to Anna. She did not care that the woman apologized. She did not care that Natasha was sorry.

Anna had moved on.

And moving on meant happiness. She only hoped that Natasha could move on as well, but something told her it would not happen. After all, the woman held a twenty-two years grudge. Maybe even longer.

She only hoped that Francis Bonfeuille found another lovely Russian woman. Maybe a cross dresser who was a shrew. Maybe a cross dresser-shrew that was even lovelier than Miss Ivanovna.

That was possibly the one thing she regretted, breaking that kind Frenchman's heart. So Anna hoped for Francis, as a friend would hope for another friend.

And Anna kept moving on. As it was the only things she could do. Because wallowing in what had occurred was useless. There was no use in staring into memory and trying to remedy things that had expired.

Had the woman done that, Alfred would have never been her husband.

So that out of place Russian did what she wanted to do from the very beginning. Anna lived. Anna lived and painted. Anna drove into the future.

And those lungs were working incredibly well.


End file.
